No one goes there now:
For what is left to fetch away
From the desolate battlements all arow,
And the lead roof heavy and grey?
‘Therefore,’ said fair Yoland of the flowers,
‘This is the tune of Seven Towers.’
No one walks there now ;
Except in the white moonlight
The white ghosts walk in a row;
If one could see it, an awful sight, —
‘Listen!’ said fair Yoland of the flowers,
‘This is the tune of Seven Towers.’
But none can see them now,
Though they sit by the side of the moat,
Feet half in the water, there in a row,
Long hair in the wind afloat.
‘Therefore,’ said fair Yoland of the flowers
‘This is the tune of Seven Towers.’
If any will go to it now,
He must go to it all alone,
Its gates will not open to any row
Of glittering spears — will you go alone?
‘Listen!’ said fair Yoland of the flowers,
‘This is the tune of Seven Towers.’
By my love go there now,
To fetch me my coif away,
My coif and my kirtle, with pearls arow,
Oliver, go to-day!
‘Therefore,’ said fair Yoland of the flowers,
‘This is the tune of Seven Towers.’
I am unhappy now,
I cannot tell you why;
If you go, the priests and I in a row
Will pray that you may not die.
‘Listen I’ said fair Yoland of the flowers,
‘This is the tune of Seven Towers.’
If you will go for me now,
I will kiss your mouth at last;
[She sayeth inwardly.]
(The graves stand grey in a row,)
Oliver, hold me fast!
‘Therefore,’ said fair Yoland of the flowers,
‘This is the tune of Seven Towers.’
