Up and away through the drifting rain!
Let us ride to the Little Tower again,
Up and away from the council-board!
Do on the hauberk, gird on the sword.
The king is blind with gnashing his teeth.
Change gilded scabbard to leather sheath:
Though our arms are wet with the slanting rain,
This is joy to ride to my love again:
I laugh in his face when he bids me yield;
Who knows one field from the other field,
For the grey rain driveth all astray?—
Which way through the floods, good carle, I pray?
"The left side yet! the left side yet!
Till your hand strikes on the bridge parapet."
"Yea so: the causeway holdeth good
Under the water?" "Hard as wood;
"Right away to the uplands; speed, good knight."
Seven hours yet before the light.
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