The Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems

焨
The Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems, by

William Morris This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net
Title: The Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems
Author: William Morris
Release Date: September 17, 2007 [EBook #22650]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DEFENCE OF GUENEVERE ***

Produced by Thierry Alberto, Stephen Blundell and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

THE
DEFENCE OF GUENEVERE
AND OTHER POEMS
BY
WILLIAM MORRIS
REPRINTED FROM THE KELMSCOTT PRESS EDITION AS REVISED BY THE AUTHOR
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. 39 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON NEW YORK, BOMBAY, AND CALCUTTA 1908
All rights reserved

First Edition, BELL & DALDY, 1858 Reprinted, 1875, for ELLIS & WHITE, and Subsequently for REEVES & TURNER Kelmscott Press Edition (revised by the Author), 1892 Transferred to LONGMANS, GREEN, & CO., 1896 New Edition corrected by Kelmscott Press Edition, May 1900 Reprinted January 1908

CONTENTS
PAGE The Defence of Guenevere 1
King Arthur's Tomb 19
Sir Galahad, a Christmas Mystery 43
The Chapel in Lyoness 57
Sir Peter Harpdon's End 65
Rapunzel 111
Concerning Geffray Teste Noire 135
A Good Knight in Prison 148
Old Love 155
The Gilliflower of Gold 159
Shameful Death 163
The Eve of Crecy 166
The Judgment of God 169
The Little Tower 174
The Sailing of the Sword 178
Spell-Bound 182
The Wind 187
The Blue Closet 194
The Tune of Seven Towers 199
Golden Wings 202
The Haystack in the Floods 215
Two Red Roses across the Moon 223
Welland River 226
Riding Together 231
Father John's War-Song 234
Sir Giles' War-Song 237
Near Avalon 239
Praise of My Lady 241
Summer Dawn 246
In Prison 247

THE DEFENCE OF GUENEVERE
But, knowing now that they would have her speak, She threw her wet hair backward from her brow, Her hand close to her mouth touching her cheek,
As though she had had there a shameful blow, And feeling it shameful to feel ought but shame All through her heart, yet felt her cheek burned so,
She must a little touch it; like one lame She walked away from Gauwaine, with her head Still lifted up; and on her cheek of flame
The tears dried quick; she stopped at last and said: O knights and lords, it seems but little skill To talk of well-known things past now and dead.
God wot I ought to say, I have done ill, And pray you all forgiveness heartily! Because you must be right, such great lords; still
Listen, suppose your time were come to die, And you were quite alone and very weak; Yea, laid a dying while very mightily
The wind was ruffling up the narrow streak Of river through your broad lands running well: Suppose a hush should come, then some one speak:
'One of these cloths is heaven, and one is hell, Now choose one cloth for ever; which they be, I will not tell you, you must somehow tell
Of your own strength and mightiness; here, see!' Yea, yea, my lord, and you to ope your eyes, At foot of your familiar bed to see
A great God's angel standing, with such dyes, Not known on earth, on his great wings, and hands, Held out two ways, light from the inner skies
Showing him well, and making his commands Seem to be God's commands, moreover, too, Holding within his hands the cloths on wands;
And one of these strange choosing cloths was blue, Wavy and long, and one cut short and red; No man could tell the better of the two.
After a shivering half-hour you said: 'God help! heaven's colour, the blue;' and he said, 'hell.' Perhaps you then would roll upon your bed,
And cry to all good men that loved you well, 'Ah Christ! if only I had known, known, known;' Launcelot went away, then I could tell,
Like wisest man how all things would be, moan, And roll and hurt myself, and long to die, And yet fear much to die for what was sown.
Nevertheless you, O Sir Gauwaine, lie, Whatever may have happened through these years, God knows I speak truth, saying that you lie.
Her voice was low at first, being full of tears, But as it cleared, it grew full loud and shrill, Growing a windy shriek in all men's ears,
A ringing in their startled brains, until She said that Gauwaine lied, then her voice sunk, And her great eyes began again to fill,
Though still she stood right up, and never shrunk, But spoke on bravely, glorious lady fair! Whatever tears her full lips may have drunk,
She stood, and seemed to think, and wrung her hair, Spoke out at last with no more trace of shame, With passionate twisting of her body there:
It chanced upon a day that Launcelot came To dwell at Arthur's court: at Christmas-time This happened; when the heralds sung his name,
Son of King Ban of Benwick, seemed to chime Along with all