| PAGE | ||
| Ballad of the Arras | vii | |
| Prologue | 1 | |
| CHAP. | ||
| I. | I describe Myself | 11 |
| II. | James Wilder | 16 |
| III. | A Sound which reminds me of my Past | 27 |
| IV. | Instructions Performed | 35 |
| V. | We say Good-bye | 38 |
| VI. | —And I Start | 42 |
| VII. | North | 44 |
| VIII. | The Dimly-painted Face | 50 |
| IX. | Geraldine | 57 |
| X. | We Meet | 72 |
| XI. | The Little Black Book | 78 |
| XII. | The Morning | 89 |
| XIII. | "You were not dressed like this" | 102 |
| XIV. | The Ballade of the Falcon | 109 |
| XV. | My Letter | 112 |
| XVI. | The Black Horse and the White | 121 |
| XVII. | The old oak Chest | 126 |
| XVIII. | The Trumpeter | 144 |
| XIX. | The Trumpeter | 147 |
| XX. | The Ruby Wine | 151 |
| XXI. | "And They laid Him to his Rest" | 160 |
| XXII. | The End | 162 |
BALLAD OF THE ARRAS
Lo! where are now these armoured hosts
Mailed for the tourney câp-a-pie,
These dames and damozelles whose ghosts
Make of the past this pagentry?
O sanguine book of History!
Romance with perfume cloaks thy must,
But he who shakes the page may see
—Dust.
Stiff hangs the arras in the gloom;
I turn my head awhile to gaze:
Here lordly stallions fret and fume,
Here streams o'er briar and brake the chase.
Here sounds a horn, here turns a face,
How filled with fires of life and lust!
Wind shakes the arras and betrays
—Dust.
Great hound that lolls against my knee,
Lips pursed in thought as if to kiss
Regret—full soon the time must be.
When one shall search, but find not ye,
For that dim moth whose labours rust
All forms in time or tapestry
—Dust.
Forth offspring to the perch and then
Clap wings—or fall, if find you must
This saddest fate of books or men
—Dust.
DEATH THE KNIGHT
AND THE LADY