As I lay dreaming in the grass
I saw a Knight of Tourney pass--
All conquering Summer. Twilit hours
Made soft light round him, rainbow flowers
Hung on his harness.
Down the dells
The fairy heralds rang blue-bells,
And even as they rocked and rang
Into the lists, full-armed, there sprang
Autumn, his helm the harvest moon,
His sword a sickle, the gleaner's tune
His hymn of battle.
Each bowed full low,
Knight to knight as to worthy foe,
Then Autumn tossed as his gauntlet down--
A leaf of the lime tree, golden brown--
And Summer bound it above the green
Of his shining breast-plate's verdant sheen.
--They closed. Above them the driving mists
Stooped and feathered--and hid the lists.
Later the cloud mist rolled away
But dead in his harness the Green Knight lay.