White, O white face—
from disenchanted days 
wither alike dark rose 
and fiery bays: 
no gift within our hands,
nor strength to praise, 
only defeat and silence; 
though we lift hands, disenchanted, 
of small strength, nor raise 
branch of the laurel 
or the light of torch, 
but fold the garment 
on the riven locks, 
yet hear, all-merciful, and touch 
the fore-head, dim, unlit of pride and thought,
Mistress–be near!
Give back the glamour to our will, 
the thought; give back the tool, 
the chisel; once we wrought 
things not unworthy, 
sandal and steel-clasp; 
silver and steel, the coat 
with white leaf-pattern 
at the arm and throat: 
silver and metal, hammered for the ridge 
of shield and helmet-rim; 
white silver with the darker hammered in, 
belt, staff and magic spear-shaft 
with the gilt spark at the point and hilt.