Tale of Archais

viii THE TALE OF ARCHAIS Turn from my book, the poet prayed, And look to Heaven, an hour to spend Before His throne who spake and bade The fountains of the deep descend And bade the earth uproot and rend To pitch like tents the mountains high, And gave him language who hath penned This pleasant tale of Thessaly. ENVOI Fair maiden, who hast rightly weighed The message of the morning sky, Think kindly of the man who made This pleasant tale of Thessaly.