The Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems | Page 8

face brush'd by his
hair, Red heavy swinging hair; he fear'd a scoff So overmuch, though
what true knight would dare
To mock that face, fretted with useless care, And bitter useless striving
after love? O Palomydes, with much honour bear Beast Glatysaunt
upon your shield, above
Your helm that hides the swinging of your hair, And think of Iseult, as
your sword drives through Much mail and plate: O God, let me be there
A little time, as I was long ago!
Because stout Gareth lets his spear fall low, Gauwaine and Launcelot,
and Dinadan Are helm'd and waiting; let the trumpets go! Bend over,
ladies, to see all you can!
Clench teeth, dames, yea, clasp hands, for Gareth's spear Throws Kay
from out his saddle, like a stone From a castle-window when the foe
draws near: Iseult! Sir Dinadan rolleth overthrown.
Iseult! again: the pieces of each spear Fly fathoms up, and both the
great steeds reel; Tristram for Iseult! Iseult! and Guenevere! The ladies'
names bite verily like steel.
They bite: bite me, Lord God! I shall go mad, Or else die kissing him,
he is so pale, He thinks me mad already, O bad! bad! Let me lie down a
little while and wail.'
'No longer so, rise up, I pray you, love, And slay me really, then we
shall be heal'd, Perchance, in the aftertime by God above.' 'Banner of
Arthur, with black-bended shield
Sinister-wise across the fair gold ground! Here let me tell you what a
knight you are, O sword and shield of Arthur! you are found A crooked
sword, I think, that leaves a scar
On the bearer's arm, so be he thinks it straight, Twisted Malay's crease
beautiful blue-grey, Poison'd with sweet fruit; as he found too late, My

husband Arthur, on some bitter day!
O sickle cutting hemlock the day long! That the husbandman across his
shoulder hangs, And, going homeward about evensong, Dies the next
morning, struck through by the fangs!
Banner, and sword, and shield, you dare not die, Lest you meet Arthur
in the other world, And, knowing who you are, he pass you by, Taking
short turns that he may watch you curl'd,
Body and face and limbs in agony, Lest he weep presently and go away,
Saying: I loved him once, with a sad sigh, Now I have slain him, Lord,
let me go too, I pray. [Launcelot falls.
Alas! alas! I know not what to do, If I run fast it is perchance that I
May fall and stun myself, much better so, Never, never again! not even
when I die.'
LAUNCELOT, on awaking.
'I stretch'd my hands towards her and fell down, How long I lay in
swoon I cannot tell: My head and hands were bleeding from the stone,
When I rose up, also I heard a bell.'

SIR GALAHAD, A CHRISTMAS MYSTERY

SIR GALAHAD, A CHRISTMAS MYSTERY
It is the longest night in all the year, Near on the day when the Lord
Christ was born; Six hours ago I came and sat down here, And ponder'd
sadly, wearied and forlorn.
The winter wind that pass'd the chapel door, Sang out a moody tune,
that went right well With mine own thoughts: I look'd down on the
floor, Between my feet, until I heard a bell

Sound a long way off through the forest deep, And toll on steadily; a
drowsiness Came on me, so that I fell half asleep, As I sat there not
moving: less and less
I saw the melted snow that hung in beads Upon my steel-shoes; less
and less I saw Between the tiles the bunches of small weeds: Heartless
and stupid, with no touch of awe
Upon me, half-shut eyes upon the ground, I thought: O Galahad! the
days go by, Stop and cast up now that which you have found, So sorely
you have wrought and painfully.
Night after night your horse treads down alone The sere damp fern,
night after night you sit Holding the bridle like a man of stone, Dismal,
unfriended: what thing comes of it?
And what if Palomydes also ride, And over many a mountain and bare
heath Follow the questing beast with none beside? Is he not able still to
hold his breath
With thoughts of Iseult? doth he not grow pale With weary striving, to
seem best of all To her, 'as she is best,' he saith? to fail Is nothing to
him, he can never fall.
For unto such a man love-sorrow is So dear a thing unto his constant
heart, That even if he never win one kiss, Or touch from Iseult, it will
never part.
And he will never know her to be worse Than in his happiest dreams he
thinks she is: Good