Or is he sleeping, my scarf round his head?

Or did they strangle him as he lay there,
With the long scarlet scarf I used to wear?

Only I pray thee, Lord, let him come here;
Both his soul and his body to me are most dear.

Dear Lord, that loves me, I wait to receive
Either body or spirit this wild Christmas-eve.

_Through the floor shot up a lily red,_
_With a patch of earth from the land of the dead,_
_For he was strong in the land of the dead._

What matter that his cheeks were pale,
His kind kiss'd lips all gray?
"O love Louise, have you waited long?"
"O my Lord Arthur, yea."

What if his hair that brush'd her cheek
Was stiff with frozen rime?
His eyes were grown quite blue again.
As in the happy time.

"O, love Louise, this is the key
Of the happy golden land!
O, sisters, cross the bridge with me,
My eyes are full of sand,
What matter that I cannot see,