Mighty the Wizard Who found me at sunrise
Sleeping, and woke me And learn'd me Magic!
Great the Master, And sweet the Magic,
When over the valley, In early summers,
Over the mountain, On human faces,
And all around me, Moving to melody,
Floated The Gleam.

Once at the croak of a Raven who crost it,
A barbarous people,
Blind to the magic, And deaf to the melody,
Snarl'd at and cursed me. A demon vext me,
The light retreated, The landskip darken'd,
The melody deaden'd, The Master whisper'd
Follow The Gleam.

Then to the melody, Over a wilderness
Gliding, and glancing at Elf of the woodland,
Gnome of the cavern, Griffin and Giant,
And dancing of Fairies In desolate hollows,
And wraiths of the mountain, And rolling of dragons
By warble of water,
Or cataract music Of falling torrents,
Flitted The Gleam.

Down from the mountain And over the level,
And streaming and shining on Silent river,
Silvery willow,
Pasture and plowland, Horses and oxen,
Innocent maidens, Garrulous children,
Homestead and harvest, Reaper and gleaner,
And rough-ruddy faces Of lowly labour,
Slided The Gleam.--

Then, with a melody Stronger and statelier,
Led me at length To the city
and palace Of Arthur the king;
Touch'd at the golden Cross of the churches,
Flash'd on the Tournament,
Flicker'd and bicker'd From helmet to helmet,
And last on the forehead Of Arthur the blameless
Rested The Gleam.

Clouds and darkness Closed upon Camelot;
Arthur had vanish'd I knew not whither,
The king who loved me, And cannot die;
For out of the darkness Silent and slowly
The Gleam, that had waned to a wintry glimmer
On icy fallow And faded forest,
Drew to the valley Named of the shadow,
And slowly brightening Out of the glimmer,
And slowly moving again
to a melody Yearningly tender,
Fell on the shadow, No longer a shadow,
But clothed with The Gleam.

And broader and brighter The Gleam flying onward,
Wed to the melody, Sang thro' the world;
And slower and fainter, Old and weary,
But eager to follow,
I saw, whenever In passing
it glanced upon Hamlet or city,
That under the Crosses The dead man's garden,
The mortal hillock, Would break into blossom;
And so to the land's Last limit I came--
And can no longer, But die rejoicing,
For thro' the Magic Of Him the Mighty,
Who taught me in childhood, There on the border
Of boundless Ocean, And all but in Heaven
Hovers The Gleam

Not of the sunlight, Not of the moonlight, Not of the starlight!
O young Mariner, Down to the haven,
Call your companions, Launch your vessel,
And crowd your canvas, And, ere it vanishes
Over the margin, After it, follow it,
Follow The Gleam.

by Alfred, Lord Tennyson