Художник: Aubrey Beardsley Of Lancelot du Lake tell i no more But this by leave these ermytes seven. But still Kynge Arthur lieth there, and Quene Guenever, As I you newyn. And Monkes That are right of lore Who synge with moulded stewyn Ihesu, who hath woundes sore, Grant us the blyss of Heaven.
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