The Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems | Page 4

was one less than three
In my quiet room that night, and we were gay; Till sudden I rose up, weak, pale, and sick, Because a bawling broke our dream up, yea
I looked at Launcelot's face and could not speak, For he looked helpless too, for a little while; Then I remember how I tried to shriek,
And could not, but fell down; from tile to tile The stones they threw up rattled o'er my head And made me dizzier; till within a while
My maids were all about me, and my head On Launcelot's breast was being soothed away From its white chattering, until Launcelot said:
By God! I will not tell you more to-day, Judge any way you will: what matters it? You know quite well the story of that fray,
How Launcelot still'd their bawling, the mad fit That caught up Gauwaine: all, all, verily, But just that which would save me; these things flit.
Nevertheless you, O Sir Gauwaine, lie, Whatever may have happen'd these long years, God knows I speak truth, saying that you lie!
All I have said is truth, by Christ's dear tears. She would not speak another word, but stood Turn'd sideways; listening, like a man who hears
His brother's trumpet sounding through the wood Of his foes' lances. She lean'd eagerly, And gave a slight spring sometimes, as she could
At last hear something really; joyfully Her cheek grew crimson, as the headlong speed Of the roan charger drew all men to see, The knight who came was Launcelot at good need.

KING ARTHUR'S TOMB

KING ARTHUR'S TOMB
Hot August noon: already on that day Since sunrise through the Wiltshire downs, most sad Of mouth and eye, he had gone leagues of way; Ay and by night, till whether good or bad
He was, he knew not, though he knew perchance That he was Launcelot, the bravest knight Of all who since the world was, have borne lance, Or swung their swords in wrong cause or in right.
Nay, he knew nothing now, except that where The Glastonbury gilded towers shine, A lady dwelt, whose name was Guenevere; This he knew also; that some fingers twine,
Not only in a man's hair, even his heart, (Making him good or bad I mean,) but in his life, Skies, earth, men's looks and deeds, all that has part, Not being ourselves, in that half-sleep, half-strife,
(Strange sleep, strange strife,) that men call living; so Was Launcelot most glad when the moon rose, Because it brought new memories of her. "Lo, Between the trees a large moon, the wind lows
Not loud, but as a cow begins to low, Wishing for strength to make the herdsman hear: The ripe corn gathereth dew; yea, long ago, In the old garden life, my Guenevere
Loved to sit still among the flowers, till night Had quite come on, hair loosen'd, for she said, Smiling like heaven, that its fairness might Draw up the wind sooner to cool her head.
Now while I ride how quick the moon gets small, As it did then: I tell myself a tale That will not last beyond the whitewashed wall, Thoughts of some joust must help me through the vale,
Keep this till after: How Sir Gareth ran A good course that day under my Queen's eyes, And how she sway'd laughing at Dinadan. No. Back again, the other thoughts will rise,
And yet I think so fast 'twill end right soon: Verily then I think, that Guenevere, Made sad by dew and wind, and tree-barred moon, Did love me more than ever, was more dear
To me than ever, she would let me lie And kiss her feet, or, if I sat behind, Would drop her hand and arm most tenderly, And touch my mouth. And she would let me wind
Her hair around my neck, so that it fell Upon my red robe, strange in the twilight With many unnamed colours, till the bell Of her 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