AH! MY LORD ARTHUR

Ah! My Lord Arthur, wither shall I go?
Where shall I hide my forhead and my eyes?
For now I see the true old times are dead,
When every morning, brought a noble chance,
And every chance brought out a noble knight.
Such times have been not since the light that led,
The holy Elders whither the gift of myrrh.
But now the whole ROUND table is dissolved.
Which was an image of the mighty world;
And I, the last, go forth companionless,
And the days darken round me, and the years,
Among new men, strange faces, other minds.