Sir Palamedes

62 The knight at last wins to behold The full conception. Breathless-blue The fair lake’s mirror crystal-cold Wherein he gazes, keen to view The vast Design therein, to chase The Beast to his last avenue. Then—O thou gosling scant of grace! The dream breaks, and Sir Palamede Wakes to the glass of his fool’s face! “ Ah, ’sdeath!” (quod he), “by thought and deed This brute for ever mocketh me. The lance is made a broken reed, The brain is but a barren tree— For all the beautiful Design Is but mine own geometry!” With that his wrath brake out like wine. He plunged his body in, and shattered The whole delusion asinine. All the false water-nymphs that flattered He killed with his resounding curse— O fool of God! as if it mattered! So, nothing better, rather worse, Out of the blue bliss of the pool Came dripping that inveterate fool!