Sir Lancelot's Reprise

Why the water be trenched by sodden suspects;
felled limbs be hardy to gather rags
    but the caught be fetched upon a haunting -
    miser gone in raven-song.

Why crass hearts be for the merry,
forethought to a hollow whispered year;
Why splits rent saw with great causation:
Of cackled cauldron meanings dragged
Around like stale ember-cuts, they call.

Tithe mellow draughts from meagre halls
For all glory's gone and gashed - wherefore
be harnessed? Caught harmless
From the cavern-run of fleeing men,
Cracked hardy slave of turning
Wrangled withered shears.