Meedless

Therefore hath Far-Darter misfortunes given, and will give; / Nor will he ever withdraw his heavy hands from our ruin, / Ere to her father belovèd the dark-eyed damsel he given, / Ransomless, meedless, and leading a consecrate hundred of oxen / Chrysaward.

The chords of the wonderful harmony / Of the earth and the skies?—if so— / We have talked too long till it all seems vain,— / The desire and the hopes that fired, / The triumphs won and the meedless pain, / And the heart that has hoped is tired.

Is a meedless desiring Life’s sentence and doom? / And the food of his strength, is it doubt? / Nay, wandering Echoes! Ye gladden the gloom, / Though ye breathe wordless messages out!

They who approached the twice-strong stable’s keeper, meedless, would milk the rocks that naught had shaken.