Pleyted in small Curious theaves
Besett with Amber Cowslip studdes
And fring'd a bout with daysie budds
In which his Bugle horne was hunge
Made of the Babling Echos tungue
Which sett unto his moone-burnt lippes
Hee windes, and then his fayries skipps.
The Lady of the Lake
And hundred winters are but as the hands
Of loyal vassals toiling for their liege.
And near him stood the Lady of the Lake,
Who knows a subtler magic than his own -
Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful.
She gave the King his huge cross-hilted sword,
Whereby to drive the heathen out: a mist
Of incence curled about her, and her face
Wellnigh was hidden in the minster gloom;
But there was heard among the holy hymns
A voice as of the waters, for she dwells
Down in a deep; calm, whatsoever storms
May shake the world, and when the surface rolls,
Hath power to walk the waters like our Lord.
Mail me by clicking the fairy. 
