A harebell tossing in the wind
Upon the windy fell
Brings ever back into my mind
The tale I cannot tell.

The silvery gleam of cotton-grass
Among dark heath and ling
Brings back into my heart, alas!
The song I cannot sing.

Deep buried under Muggleswick
King Arthur lies asleep,
But tale and song, still live and quick,
Are buried yet more deep.