Ay.

GUENDOLEN.

Then thou sawest our Britain's heart and head
Death-stricken. Seemed not there my sire to thee
More great than thine, or all men living? We
Stand shadows of the fathers we survive:
Earth bears no more nor sees such births alive.

MADAN.

Why, he was great of thews--and wise, thou say'st:
Yet seems my sire to me the fairer-faced -
The kinglier and the kindlier.

GUENDOLEN.

Yea, his eyes
Are liker seas that feel the summering skies
In concord of sweet colour--and his brow
Shines gentler than my father's ever: thou,
So seeing, dost well to hold thy sire so dear.

MADAN.

I said not that his love sat yet so near
My heart as thine doth: rather am I thine,
Thou knowest, than his.