While she spake my heart did leap. Waking is man's life, and sleep — What is sleep?— a little death Coming after, and methought
Life is mine and death is nought Till it come,— so day is mine I will risk the sleep to shine In the waking.
And she saith, In a soft voice clear and low, ‘ Give thy plumèd cap also For a token.’
‘ Didst thou give?’ Quoth the queen; and‘ As I live He makes answer‘ none can tell. I did will my sleep to sell,
And in token held to her That she askèd. And it fell To the grass. I saw no stir In her hand or in her face,
And no going; but the place Only for an evening mist Was made empty. There it lay, That same plumèd cap, alway
On the grasses — but I wist Well, it must be let to lie, And I left it. Now the tale Ends, th’ events do testify
Of her truth. The days go by Better and better; nought doth ail In the land, right happy and hale Dwell the seely folk; but sleep
Brings a reckoning; then forth creep Dreaded creatures, worms of might. Crested with my plumèd cap Loll about my neck all night,
Bite me in the side, and lap My heart's blood. Then oft the weird Drives me, where amazed, afeard, I do safe on a river strand
Mark one sinking hard at hand While fierce sleuth-hounds that me track Fly upon me, bear me back, Fling me away, and he for lack
Of man's aid in piteous wise Goeth under, drowns and dies.
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