Elegy to a King

Whence Mordred’s guilt crown fell on Camlann ground,

And Caliburn, his bane, returned again,

To its lake-bed crypt off Avalon’s sound,

How did Morgan comfort her brother slain?

What quieting refrain becalmed his pain,

And rightly addressed his grievous distress,

For th’ endless travails of his troubled reign,

Which knew as many failures as success?

What Truth professed, ’midst her king’s final rest,

That shant, unlike mortal bones, be o’erthrown,

But mayst preserve his tragic hist’ry best,

Did Morgan impart ’midst his dying groans?

To Heaven known what she told the smitten,

What Morgan told Arthur, King of Britain.

-Q-

http://poeticwinds.wordpress.com