The Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems | Page 5

mouth on
my cheek sent a delight
Through all my ways of being; like the stroke Wherewith God threw all
men upon the face When he took Enoch, and when Enoch woke With a
changed body in the happy place.
Once, I remember, as I sat beside, She turn'd a little, and laid back her
head, And slept upon my breast; I almost died In those night-watches
with my love and dread.
There lily-like she bow'd her head and slept, And I breathed low, and
did not dare to move, But sat and quiver'd inwardly, thoughts crept,
And frighten'd me with pulses of my Love.
The stars shone out above the doubtful green Of her bodice, in the
green sky overhead; Pale in the green sky were the stars I ween,
Because the moon shone like a star she shed
When she dwelt up in heaven a while ago, And ruled all things but God:
the night went on, The wind grew cold, and the white moon grew low,
One hand had fallen down, and now lay on
My cold stiff palm; there were no colours then For near an hour, and I
fell asleep In spite of all my striving, even when I held her whose

name-letters make me leap.
I did not sleep long, feeling that in sleep I did some loved one wrong,
so that the sun Had only just arisen from the deep Still land of colours,
when before me one
Stood whom I knew, but scarcely dared to touch, She seemed to have
changed so in the night; Moreover she held scarlet lilies, such As
Maiden Margaret bears upon the light
Of the great church walls, natheless did I walk Through the fresh wet
woods, and the wheat that morn, Touching her hair and hand and
mouth, and talk Of love we held, nigh hid among the corn.
Back to the palace, ere the sun grew high, We went, and in a cool green
room all day I gazed upon the arras giddily, Where the wind set the
silken kings a-sway.
I could not hold her hand, or see her face; For which may God forgive
me! but I think, Howsoever, that she was not in that place. These
memories Launcelot was quick to drink;
And when these fell, some paces past the wall, There rose yet others,
but they wearied more, And tasted not so sweet; they did not fall So
soon, but vaguely wrenched his strained heart sore
In shadowy slipping from his grasp: these gone, A longing followed; if
he might but touch That Guenevere at once! Still night, the lone Grey
horse's head before him vex'd him much,
In steady nodding over the grey road: Still night, and night, and night,
and emptied heart Of any stories; what a dismal load Time grew at last,
yea, when the night did part,
And let the sun flame over all, still there The horse's grey ears turn'd
this way and that, And still he watch'd them twitching in the glare Of
the morning sun, behind them still he sat,

Quite wearied out with all the wretched night, Until about the dustiest
of the day, On the last down's brow he drew his rein in sight Of the
Glastonbury roofs that choke the way.
And he was now quite giddy as before, When she slept by him, tired
out, and her hair Was mingled with the rushes on the floor, And he,
being tired too, was scarce aware
Of her presence; yet as he sat and gazed, A shiver ran throughout him,
and his breath Came slower, he seem'd suddenly amazed, As though he
had not heard of Arthur's death.
This for a moment only, presently He rode on giddy still, until he
reach'd A place of apple-trees, by the thorn-tree Wherefrom St. Joseph
in the days past preached.
Dazed there he laid his head upon a tomb, Not knowing it was Arthur's,
at which sight One of her maidens told her, 'He is come,' And she went
forth to meet him; yet a blight
Had settled on her, all her robes were black, With a long white veil
only; she went slow, As one walks to be slain, her eyes did lack Half
her old glory, yea, alas! the glow
Had left her face and hands; this was because As she lay last night on
her purple bed, Wishing for morning, grudging every pause Of the
palace clocks, until that Launcelot's head
Should lie on her breast, with all her golden hair Each side: when
suddenly the thing grew drear, In morning twilight, when the grey
downs bare Grew into lumps of sin to Guenevere.
At first she said no word, but lay quite still, Only her mouth was open,
and her eyes Gazed wretchedly