I am Tristram watching how the young souls tilt.— I lean with thee, my dark-haired tourney-bride, Against this pillar,—press thee to my side, And sheathe my strong sword bloodied to the hilt. The stains of blood are dry thereon. Unspilt Shall be the red flood in this battle-tide:— No more my plume goes, swaying in its pride, Athwart the @3mêlée:@1 hushed my battle-lilt. Sweet, watch with me the combatants,—nor ask Thy knightly Tristram to unsheathe his sword. To unhorse these youths were all too easy task: Their maidens' kisses are not my reward. Lo! I am Tristram. Iseult, share with me The swordless bloodless calm of victory. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ILKA BLADE O' GRASS KEPS ITS AIN DRAP O' DEW by JAMES BALLANTYNE PRINCETON by LYMAN WHITNEY ALLEN AN AUTUMN SONNET by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT SONGS OF OUR LAND by FRANCES BROWN (1816-1864) THE POET by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT |