The Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems | Page 6

such as on the way
To Camelot I heard once from a churl, That curled me up upon my jennet's neck With bitter shame; how then, Lord, should I curl For ages and for ages? dost thou reck
That I am beautiful, Lord, even as you And your dear mother? why did I forget You were so beautiful, and good, and true, That you loved me so, Guenevere? O yet
If even I go to hell, I cannot choose But love you, Christ, yea, though I cannot keep From loving Launcelot; O Christ! must I lose My own heart's love? see, though I cannot weep,
Yet am I very sorry for my sin; Moreover, Christ, I cannot bear that hell, I am most fain to love you, and to win A place in heaven some time: I cannot tell:
Speak to me, Christ! I kiss, kiss, kiss your feet; Ah! now I weep!' The maid said, 'By the tomb He waiteth for you, lady,' coming fleet, Not knowing what woe filled up all the room.
So Guenevere rose and went to meet him there, He did not hear her coming, as he lay On Arthur's head, till some of her long hair Brush'd on the new-cut stone: 'Well done! to pray
For Arthur, my dear Lord, the greatest king That ever lived.' 'Guenevere! Guenevere! Do you not know me, are you gone mad? fling Your arms and hair about me, lest I fear
You are not Guenevere, but some other thing.' 'Pray you forgive me, fair lord Launcelot! I am not mad, but I am sick; they cling, God's curses, unto such as I am; not
Ever again shall we twine arms and lips.' 'Yea, she is mad: thy heavy law, O Lord, Is very tight about her now, and grips Her poor heart, so that no right word
Can reach her mouth; so, Lord, forgive her now, That she not knowing what she does, being mad, Kills me in this way; Guenevere, bend low And kiss me once! for God's love kiss me! sad
Though your face is, you look much kinder now; Yea once, once for the last time kiss me, lest I die.' 'Christ! my hot lips are very near his brow, Help me to save his soul! Yea, verily,
Across my husband's head, fair Launcelot! Fair serpent mark'd with V upon the head! This thing we did while yet he was alive, Why not, O twisting knight, now he is dead?
Yea, shake! shake now and shiver! if you can Remember anything for agony, Pray you remember how when the wind ran One cool spring evening through fair aspen-tree,
And elm and oak about the palace there, The king came back from battle, and I stood To meet him, with my ladies, on the stair, My face made beautiful with my young blood.'
'Will she lie now, Lord God?' 'Remember too, Wrung heart, how first before the knights there came A royal bier, hung round with green and blue, About it shone great tapers with sick flame.
And thereupon Lucius, the Emperor, Lay royal-robed, but stone-cold now and dead, Not able to hold sword or sceptre more, But not quite grim; because his cloven head
Bore no marks now of Launcelot's bitter sword, Being by embalmers deftly solder'd up; So still it seem'd the face of a great lord, Being mended as a craftsman mends a cup.
Also the heralds sung rejoicingly To their long trumpets; Fallen under shield, Here lieth Lucius, King of Italy, Slain by Lord Launcelot in open field.
Thereat the people shouted: Launcelot! And through the spears I saw you drawing nigh, You and Lord Arthur: nay, I saw you not, But rather Arthur, God would not let die,
I hoped, these many years; he should grow great, And in his great arms still encircle me, Kissing my face, half blinded with the heat Of king's love for the queen I used to be.
Launcelot, Launcelot, why did he take your hand, When he had kissed me in his kingly way? Saying: This is the knight whom all the land Calls Arthur's banner, sword, and shield to-day;
Cherish him, love. Why did your long lips cleave In such strange way unto my fingers then? So eagerly glad to kiss, so loath to leave When you rose up? Why among helmed men
Could I always tell you by your long strong arms, And sway like an angel's in your saddle there? Why sicken'd I so often with alarms Over the tilt-yard? Why were you more fair
Than aspens in the autumn at their best? Why did you fill all lands with your great fame, So that Breuse even, as he rode, fear'd lest At turning of the way your shield should flame?
Was it nought then, my agony and strife? When as day passed by day, year after year, I found I could not live a righteous life!