253 files changed, 18283 insertions, 0 deletions

diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6833f05
--- /dev/null
+++ b/.gitattributes
@@ -0,0 +1,3 @@
+* text=auto
+*.txt text
+*.md text
diff --git a/22650-8.txt b/22650-8.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c92020f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-8.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,5942 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of 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.org
+
+
+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 https://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 the bells that rang that day,
+    O'er the white roofs, with little change of rhyme.
+
+    Christmas and whitened winter passed away,
+    And over me the April sunshine came,
+    Made very awful with black hail-clouds, yea
+
+    And in the Summer I grew white with flame,
+    And bowed my head down: Autumn, and the sick
+    Sure knowledge things would never be the same,
+
+    However often Spring might be most thick
+    Of blossoms and buds, smote on me, and I grew
+    Careless of most things, let the clock tick, tick,
+
+    To my unhappy pulse, that beat right through
+    My eager body; while I laughed out loud,
+    And let my lips curl up at false or true,
+
+    Seemed cold and shallow without any cloud.
+    Behold my judges, then the cloths were brought;
+    While I was dizzied thus, old thoughts would crowd,
+
+    Belonging to the time ere I was bought
+    By Arthur's great name and his little love;
+    Must I give up for ever then, I thought,
+
+    That which I deemed would ever round me move
+    Glorifying all things; for a little word,
+    Scarce ever meant at all, must I now prove
+
+    Stone-cold for ever? Pray you, does the Lord
+    Will that all folks should be quite happy and good?
+    I love God now a little, if this cord
+
+    Were broken, once for all what striving could
+    Make me love anything in earth or heaven?
+    So day by day it grew, as if one should
+
+    Slip slowly down some path worn smooth and even,
+    Down to a cool sea on a summer day;
+    Yet still in slipping there was some small leaven
+
+    Of stretched hands catching small stones by the way,
+    Until one surely reached the sea at last,
+    And felt strange new joy as the worn head lay
+
+    Back, with the hair like sea-weed; yea all past
+    Sweat of the forehead, dryness of the lips,
+    Washed utterly out by the dear waves o'ercast,
+
+    In the lone sea, far off from any ships!
+    Do I not know now of a day in Spring?
+    No minute of that wild day ever slips
+
+    From out my memory; I hear thrushes sing,
+    And wheresoever I may be, straightway
+    Thoughts of it all come up with most fresh sting:
+
+    I was half mad with beauty on that day,
+    And went without my ladies all alone,
+    In a quiet garden walled round every way;
+
+    I was right joyful of that wall of stone,
+    That shut the flowers and trees up with the sky,
+    And trebled all the beauty: to the bone,
+
+    Yea right through to my heart, grown very shy
+    With weary thoughts, it pierced, and made me glad;
+    Exceedingly glad, and I knew verily,
+
+    A little thing just then had made me mad;
+    I dared not think, as I was wont to do,
+    Sometimes, upon my beauty; If I had
+
+    Held out my long hand up against the blue,
+    And, looking on the tenderly darken'd fingers,
+    Thought that by rights one ought to see quite through,
+
+    There, see you, where the soft still light yet lingers,
+    Round by the edges; what should I have done,
+    If this had joined with yellow spotted singers,
+
+    And startling green drawn upward by the sun?
+    But shouting, loosed out, see now! all my hair,
+    And trancedly stood watching the west wind run
+
+    With faintest half-heard breathing sound; why there
+    I lose my head e'en now in doing this;
+    But shortly listen: In that garden fair
+
+    Came Launcelot walking; this is true, the kiss
+    Wherewith we kissed in meeting that spring day,
+    I scarce dare talk of the remember'd bliss,
+
+    When both our mouths went wandering in one way,
+    And aching sorely, met among the leaves;
+    Our hands being left behind strained far away.
+
+    Never within a yard of my bright sleeves
+    Had Launcelot come before: and now, so nigh!
+    After that day why is it Guenevere grieves?
+
+    Nevertheless you, O Sir Gauwaine, lie,
+    Whatever happened on through all those years,
+    God knows I speak truth, saying that you lie.
+
+    Being such a lady could I weep these tears
+    If this were true? A great queen such as I
+    Having sinn'd this way, straight her conscience sears;
+
+    And afterwards she liveth hatefully,
+    Slaying and poisoning, certes never weeps:
+    Gauwaine be friends now, speak me lovingly.
+
+    Do I not see how God's dear pity creeps
+    All through your frame, and trembles in your mouth?
+    Remember in what grave your mother sleeps,
+
+    Buried in some place far down in the south,
+    Men are forgetting as I speak to you;
+    By her head sever'd in that awful drouth
+
+    Of pity that drew Agravaine's fell blow,
+    I pray your pity! let me not scream out
+    For ever after, when the shrill winds blow
+
+    Through half your castle-locks! let me not shout
+    For ever after in the winter night
+    When you ride out alone! in battle-rout
+
+    Let not my rusting tears make your sword light!
+    Ah! God of mercy, how he turns away!
+    So, ever must I dress me to the fight,
+
+    So: let God's justice work! Gauwaine, I say,
+    See me hew down your proofs: yea all men know
+    Even as you said how Mellyagraunce one day,
+
+    One bitter day in _la Fausse Garde_, for so
+    All good knights held it after, saw:
+    Yea, sirs, by cursed unknightly outrage; though
+
+    You, Gauwaine, held his word without a flaw,
+    This Mellyagraunce saw blood upon my bed:
+    Whose blood then pray you? is there any law
+
+    To make a queen say why some spots of red
+    Lie on her coverlet? or will you say:
+    Your hands are white, lady, as when you wed,
+
+    Where did you bleed? and must I stammer out, Nay,
+    I blush indeed, fair lord, only to rend
+    My sleeve up to my shoulder, where there lay
+
+    A knife-point last night: so must I defend
+    The honour of the Lady Guenevere?
+    Not so, fair lords, even if the world should end
+
+    This very day, and you were judges here
+    Instead of God. Did you see Mellyagraunce
+    When Launcelot stood by him? what white fear
+
+    Curdled his blood, and how his teeth did dance,
+    His side sink in? as my knight cried and said:
+    Slayer of unarm'd men, here is a chance!
+
+    Setter of traps, I pray you guard your head,
+    By God I am so glad to fight with you,
+    Stripper of ladies, that my hand feels lead
+
+    For driving weight; hurrah now! draw and do,
+    For all my wounds are moving in my breast,
+    And I am getting mad with waiting so.
+
+    He struck his hands together o'er the beast,
+    Who fell down flat, and grovell'd at his feet,
+    And groan'd at being slain so young: At least,
+
+    My knight said, rise you, sir, who are so fleet
+    At catching ladies, half-arm'd will I fight,
+    My left side all uncovered! then I weet,
+
+    Up sprang Sir Mellyagraunce with great delight
+    Upon his knave's face; not until just then
+    Did I quite hate him, as I saw my knight
+
+    Along the lists look to my stake and pen
+    With such a joyous smile, it made me sigh
+    From agony beneath my waist-chain, when
+
+    The fight began, and to me they drew nigh;
+    Ever Sir Launcelot kept him on the right,
+    And traversed warily, and ever high
+
+    And fast leapt caitiff's sword, until my knight
+    Sudden threw up his sword to his left hand,
+    Caught it, and swung it; that was all the fight,
+
+    Except a spout of blood on the hot land;
+    For it was hottest summer; and I know
+    I wonder'd how the fire, while I should stand,
+
+    And burn, against the heat, would quiver so,
+    Yards above my head; thus these matters went;
+    Which things were only warnings of the woe
+
+    That fell on me. Yet Mellyagraunce was shent,
+    For Mellyagraunce had fought against the Lord;
+    Therefore, my lords, take heed lest you be blent
+
+    With all this wickedness; say no rash word
+    Against me, being so beautiful; my eyes,
+    Wept all away to grey, may bring some sword
+
+    To drown you in your blood; see my breast rise,
+    Like waves of purple sea, as here I stand;
+    And how my arms are moved in wonderful wise,
+
+    Yea also at my full heart's strong command,
+    See through my long throat how the words go up
+    In ripples to my mouth; how in my hand
+
+    The shadow lies like wine within a cup
+    Of marvellously colour'd gold; yea now
+    This little wind is rising, look you up,
+
+    And wonder how the light is falling so
+    Within my moving tresses: will you dare,
+    When you have looked a little on my brow,
+
+    To say this thing is vile? or will you care
+    For any plausible lies of cunning woof,
+    When you can see my face with no lie there
+
+    For ever? am I not a gracious proof:
+    But in your chamber Launcelot was found:
+    Is there a good knight then would stand aloof,
+
+    When a queen says with gentle queenly sound:
+    O true as steel come now and talk with me,
+    I love to see your step upon the ground
+
+    Unwavering, also well I love to see
+    That gracious smile light up your face, and hear
+    Your wonderful words, that all mean verily
+
+    The thing they seem to mean: good friend, so dear
+    To me in everything, come here to-night,
+    Or else the hours will pass most dull and drear;
+
+    If you come not, I fear this time I might
+    Get thinking over much of times gone by,
+    When I was young, and green hope was in sight:
+
+    For no man cares now to know why I sigh;
+    And no man comes to sing me pleasant songs,
+    Nor any brings me the sweet flowers that lie
+
+    So thick in the gardens; therefore one so longs
+    To see you, Launcelot; that we may be
+    Like children once again, free from all wrongs
+
+    Just for one night. Did he not come to me?
+    What thing could keep true Launcelot away
+    If I said, Come? there 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 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 about from hill to hill;
+      As though she asked, not with so much surprise
+
+    As tired disgust, what made them stand up there
+      So cold and grey. After, a spasm took
+    Her face, and all her frame, she caught her hair,
+      All her hair, in both hands, terribly she shook,
+
+    And rose till she was sitting in the bed,
+      Set her teeth hard, and shut her eyes and seem'd
+    As though she would have torn it from her head,
+      Natheless she dropp'd it, lay down, as she deem'd
+
+    It matter'd not whatever she might do:
+      O Lord Christ! pity on her ghastly face!
+    Those dismal hours while the cloudless blue
+      Drew the sun higher: He did give her grace;
+
+    Because at last she rose up from her bed,
+      And put her raiment on, and knelt before
+    The blessed rood, and with her dry lips said,
+      Muttering the words against the marble floor:
+
+    'Unless you pardon, what shall I do, Lord,
+      But go to hell? and there see day by day
+    Foul deed on deed, hear foulest word on word,
+      For ever and ever, 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!
+      Didst ever think queens held their truth for dear?
+
+    O, but your lips say: Yea, but she was cold
+      Sometimes, always uncertain as the spring;
+    When I was sad she would be overbold,
+      Longing for kisses. When war-bells did ring,
+
+    The back-toll'd bells of noisy Camelot.
+      'Now, Lord God, listen! listen, Guenevere,
+    Though I am weak just now, I think there's not
+      A man who dares to say: You hated her,
+
+    And left her moaning while you fought your fill
+      In the daisied meadows! lo you her thin hand,
+    That on the carven stone can not keep still,
+      Because she loves me against God's command,
+
+    Has often been quite wet with tear on tear,
+      Tears Launcelot keeps somewhere, surely not
+    In his own heart, perhaps in Heaven, where
+      He will not be these ages.' 'Launcelot!
+
+    Loud lips, wrung heart! I say when the bells rang,
+      The noisy back-toll'd bells of Camelot,
+    There were two spots on earth, the thrushes sang
+      In the lonely gardens where my love was not,
+
+    Where I was almost weeping; I dared not
+      Weep quite in those days, lest one maid should say,
+    In tittering whispers: Where is Launcelot
+      To wipe with some kerchief those tears away?
+
+    Another answer sharply with brows knit,
+      And warning hand up, scarcely lower though:
+    You speak too loud, see you, she heareth it,
+      This tigress fair has claws, as I well know,
+
+    As Launcelot knows too, the poor knight! well-a-day!
+      Why met he not with Iseult from the West,
+    Or better still, Iseult of Brittany?
+      Perchance indeed quite ladyless were best.
+
+    Alas, my maids, you loved not overmuch
+      Queen Guenevere, uncertain as sunshine
+    In March; forgive me! for my sin being such,
+      About my whole life, all my deeds did twine,
+
+    Made me quite wicked; as I found out then,
+      I think; in the lonely palace where each morn
+    We went, my maids and I, to say prayers when
+      They sang mass in the chapel on the lawn.
+
+    And every morn I scarce could pray at all,
+      For Launcelot's red-golden hair would play,
+    Instead of sunlight, on the painted wall,
+      Mingled with dreams of what the priest did say;
+
+    Grim curses out of Peter and of Paul;
+      Judging of strange sins in Leviticus;
+    Another sort of writing on the wall,
+      Scored deep across the painted heads of us.
+
+    Christ sitting with the woman at the well,
+      And Mary Magdalen repenting there,
+    Her dimmed eyes scorch'd and red at sight of hell
+      So hardly 'scaped, no gold light on her hair.
+
+    And if the priest said anything that seemed
+      To touch upon the sin they said we did,
+    (This in their teeth) they looked as if they deem'd
+      That I was spying what thoughts might be hid
+
+    Under green-cover'd bosoms, heaving quick
+      Beneath quick thoughts; while they grew red with shame,
+    And gazed down at their feet: while I felt sick,
+      And almost shriek'd if one should call my name.
+
+    The thrushes sang in the lone garden there:
+      But where you were the birds were scared I trow:
+    Clanging of arms about pavilions fair,
+      Mixed with the knights' laughs; there, as I well know,
+
+    Rode Launcelot, the king of all the band,
+      And scowling Gauwaine, like the night in day,
+    And handsome Gareth, with his great white hand
+      Curl'd round the helm-crest, ere he join'd the fray;
+
+    And merry Dinadan with sharp dark face,
+      All true knights loved to see; and in the fight
+    Great Tristram, and though helmed you could trace
+      In all his bearing the frank noble knight;
+
+    And by him Palomydes, helmet off,
+      He fought, his 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 knight, and faithful, you have 'scaped the curse
+      In wonderful-wise; you have great store of bliss.
+
+    Yea, what if Father Launcelot ride out,
+      Can he not think of Guenevere's arms, round
+    Warm and lithe, about his neck, and shout
+      Till all the place grows joyful with the sound?
+
+    And when he lists can often see her face,
+      And think, 'Next month I kiss you, or next week,
+    And still you think of me': therefore the place
+      Grows very pleasant, whatsoever he seek.
+
+    But me, who ride alone, some carle shall find
+      Dead in my arms in the half-melted snow,
+    When all unkindly with the shifting wind,
+      The thaw comes on at Candlemas: I know
+
+    Indeed that they will say: 'This Galahad
+      If he had lived had been a right good knight;
+    Ah! poor chaste body!' but they will be glad,
+      Not most alone, but all, when in their sight
+
+    That very evening in their scarlet sleeves
+      The gay-dress'd minstrels sing; no maid will talk
+    Of sitting on my tomb, until the leaves,
+      Grown big upon the bushes of the walk,
+
+    East of the Palace-pleasaunce, make it hard
+      To see the minster therefrom: well-a-day!
+    Before the trees by autumn were well bared,
+      I saw a damozel with gentle play,
+
+    Within that very walk say last farewell
+      To her dear knight, just riding out to find
+    (Why should I choke to say it?) the Sangreal,
+      And their last kisses sunk into my mind,
+
+    Yea, for she stood lean'd forward on his breast,
+      Rather, scarce stood; the back of one dear hand,
+    That it might well be kiss'd, she held and press'd
+      Against his lips; long time they stood there, fann'd
+
+    By gentle gusts of quiet frosty wind,
+      Till Mador de la porte a-going by,
+    And my own horsehoofs roused them; they untwined,
+      And parted like a dream. In this way I,
+
+    With sleepy face bent to the chapel floor,
+      Kept musing half asleep, till suddenly
+    A sharp bell rang from close beside the door,
+      And I leapt up when something pass'd me by,
+
+    Shrill ringing going with it, still half blind
+      I stagger'd after, a great sense of awe
+    At every step kept gathering on my mind,
+      Thereat I have no marvel, for I saw
+
+    One sitting on the altar as a throne,
+      Whose face no man could say he did not know,
+    And though the bell still rang, he sat alone,
+      With raiment half blood-red, half white as snow.
+
+    Right so I fell upon the floor and knelt,
+      Not as one kneels in church when mass is said,
+    But in a heap, quite nerveless, for I felt
+      The first time what a thing was perfect dread.
+
+    But mightily the gentle voice came down:
+      'Rise up, and look and listen, Galahad,
+    Good knight of God, for you will see no frown
+      Upon my face; I come to make you glad.
+
+    For that you say that you are all alone,
+      I will be with you always, and fear not
+    You are uncared for, though no maiden moan
+      Above your empty tomb; for Launcelot,
+
+    He in good time shall be my servant too,
+      Meantime, take note whose sword first made him knight,
+    And who has loved him alway, yea, and who
+      Still trusts him alway, though in all men's sight,
+
+    He is just what you know, O Galahad,
+      This love is happy even as you say,
+    But would you for a little time be glad,
+      To make ME sorry long, day after day?
+
+    Her warm arms round his neck half throttle ME,
+      The hot love-tears burn deep like spots of lead,
+    Yea, and the years pass quick: right dismally
+      Will Launcelot at one time hang his head;
+
+    Yea, old and shrivell'd he shall win my love.
+      Poor Palomydes fretting out his soul!
+    Not always is he able, son, to move
+      His love, and do it honour: needs must roll
+
+    The proudest destrier sometimes in the dust,
+      And then 'tis weary work; he strives beside
+    Seem better than he is, so that his trust
+      Is always on what chances may betide;
+
+    And so he wears away, my servant, too,
+      When all these things are gone, and wretchedly
+    He sits and longs to moan for Iseult, who
+      Is no care now to Palomydes: see,
+
+    O good son Galahad, upon this day,
+      Now even, all these things are on your side,
+    But these you fight not for; look up, I say,
+      And see how I can love you, for no pride
+
+    Closes your eyes, no vain lust keeps them down.
+      See now you have ME always; following
+    That holy vision, Galahad, go on,
+      Until at last you come to ME to sing
+
+    In Heaven always, and to walk around
+      The garden where I am.' He ceased, my face
+    And wretched body fell upon the ground;
+      And when I look'd again, the holy place
+
+    Was empty; but right so the bell again
+      Came to the chapel-door, there entered
+    Two angels first, in white, without a stain,
+      And scarlet wings, then, after them, a bed
+
+    Four ladies bore, and set it down beneath
+      The very altar-step, and while for fear
+    I scarcely dared to move or draw my breath,
+      Those holy ladies gently came a-near,
+
+    And quite unarm'd me, saying: 'Galahad,
+      Rest here awhile and sleep, and take no thought
+    Of any other thing than being glad;
+      Hither the Sangreal will be shortly brought,
+
+    Yet must you sleep the while it stayeth here.'
+      Right so they went away, and I, being weary,
+    Slept long and dream'd of Heaven: the bell comes near,
+      I doubt it grows to morning. Miserere!
+
+ _Enter Two Angels in white, with scarlet wings; also, Four Ladies in
+     gowns of red and green; also an Angel, bearing in his hands a
+     surcoat of white, with a red cross._
+
+              AN ANGEL.
+
+    O servant of the high God, Galahad!
+      Rise and be arm'd: the Sangreal is gone forth
+    Through the great forest, and you must be had
+      Unto the sea that lieth on the north:
+
+    There shall you find the wondrous ship wherein
+      The spindles of King Solomon are laid,
+    And the sword that no man draweth without sin,
+      But if he be most pure: and there is stay'd,
+
+    Hard by, Sir Launcelot, whom you will meet
+      In some short space upon that ship: first, though,
+    Will come here presently that lady sweet,
+      Sister of Percival, whom you well know,
+
+    And with her Bors and Percival: stand now,
+      These ladies will to arm you.
+
+              FIRST LADY, _putting on the hauberk_.
+
+                                    Galahad,
+    That I may stand so close beneath your brow,
+      I, Margaret of Antioch, am glad.
+
+              SECOND LADY, _girding him with the sword_.
+
+    That I may stand and touch you with my hand,
+      O Galahad, I, Cecily, am glad.
+
+              THIRD LADY, _buckling on the spurs_.
+
+    That I may kneel while up above you stand,
+      And gaze at me, O holy Galahad,
+
+    I, Lucy, am most glad.
+
+              FOURTH LADY, _putting on the basnet_.
+
+                            O gentle knight,
+      That you bow down to us in reverence,
+    We are most glad, I, Katherine, with delight
+      Must needs fall trembling.
+
+              ANGEL, _putting on the crossed surcoat_.
+
+                                Galahad, we go hence,
+
+    For here, amid the straying of the snow,
+      Come Percival's sister, Bors, and Percival.
+                      [_The Four Ladies carry out the bed,
+                            and all go but_ Galahad.
+
+              GALAHAD.
+
+    How still and quiet everything seems now:
+      They come, too, for I hear the horsehoofs fall.
+
+              _Enter_ Sir Bors, Sir Percival, _and_ his Sister.
+
+    Fair friends and gentle lady, God you save!
+      A many marvels have been here to-night;
+    Tell me what news of Launcelot you have,
+      And has God's body ever been in sight?
+
+              SIR BORS.
+
+    Why, as for seeing that same holy thing,
+      As we were riding slowly side by side,
+    An hour ago, we heard a sweet voice sing,
+      And through the bare twigs saw a great light glide,
+
+    With many-colour'd raiment, but far off;
+      And so pass'd quickly: from the court nought good;
+    Poor merry Dinadan, that with jape and scoff
+      Kept us all merry, in a little wood
+
+    Was found all hack'd and dead: Sir Lionel
+      And Gauwaine have come back from the great quest,
+    Just merely shamed; and Lauvaine, who loved well
+      Your father Launcelot, at the king's behest
+
+    Went out to seek him, but was almost slain,
+      Perhaps is dead now; everywhere
+    The knights come foil'd from the great quest, in vain;
+      In vain they struggle for the vision fair.
+
+
+
+
+THE CHAPEL IN LYONESS
+
+
+
+
+THE CHAPEL IN LYONESS
+
+
+ SIR OZANA LE CURE HARDY. SIR GALAHAD. SIR BORS DE GANYS.
+
+              SIR OZANA.
+
+    All day long and every day,
+    From Christmas-Eve to Whit-Sunday,
+    Within that Chapel-aisle I lay,
+      And no man came a-near.
+
+    Naked to the waist was I,
+    And deep within my breast did lie,
+    Though no man any blood could spy,
+      The truncheon of a spear.
+
+    No meat did ever pass my lips
+    Those days. Alas! the sunlight slips
+    From off the gilded parclose, dips,
+      And night comes on apace.
+
+    My arms lay back behind my head;
+    Over my raised-up knees was spread
+    A samite cloth of white and red;
+      A rose lay on my face.
+
+    Many a time I tried to shout;
+    But as in dream of battle-rout,
+    My frozen speech would not well out;
+      I could not even weep.
+
+    With inward sigh I see the sun
+    Fade off the pillars one by one,
+    My heart faints when the day is done,
+      Because I cannot sleep.
+
+    Sometimes strange thoughts pass through my head;
+    Not like a tomb is this my bed,
+    Yet oft I think that I am dead;
+      That round my tomb is writ,
+
+    'Ozana of the hardy heart,
+      Knight of the Table Round,
+    Pray for his soul, lords, of your part;
+      A true knight he was found.'
+    Ah! me, I cannot fathom it.      [_He sleeps._
+
+              SIR GALAHAD.
+
+    All day long and every day,
+    Till his madness pass'd away,
+    I watch'd Ozana as he lay
+      Within the gilded screen.
+
+    All my singing moved him not;
+    As I sung my heart grew hot,
+    With the thought of Launcelot
+      Far away, I ween.
+
+    So I went a little space
+    From out the chapel, bathed my face
+    In the stream that runs apace
+      By the churchyard wall.
+
+    There I pluck'd a faint wild rose,
+    Hard by where the linden grows,
+    Sighing over silver rows
+      Of the lilies tall.
+
+    I laid the flower across his mouth;
+    The sparkling drops seem'd good for drouth;
+    He smiled, turn'd round towards the south.
+      Held up a golden tress.
+
+    The light smote on it from the west;
+    He drew the covering from his breast,
+    Against his heart that hair he prest;
+      Death him soon will bless.
+
+              SIR BORS.
+
+    I enter'd by the western door;
+      I saw a knight's helm lying there:
+    I raised my eyes from off the floor,
+      And caught the gleaming of his hair.
+
+    I stept full softly up to him;
+      I laid my chin upon his head;
+    I felt him smile; my eyes did swim,
+      I was so glad he was not dead.
+
+    I heard Ozana murmur low,
+      'There comes no sleep nor any love.'
+    But Galahad stoop'd and kiss'd his brow:
+      He shiver'd; I saw his pale lips move.
+
+              SIR OZANA.
+
+    There comes no sleep nor any love;
+      Ah me! I shiver with delight.
+    I am so weak I cannot move;
+      God move me to thee, dear, to-night!
+    Christ help! I have but little wit:
+    My life went wrong; I see it writ,
+
+    'Ozana of the hardy heart,
+      Knight of the Table Round,
+    Pray for his soul, lords, on your part;
+      A good knight he was found.'
+
+    Now I begin to fathom it.      [_He dies._
+
+              SIR BORS.
+
+    Galahad sits dreamily;
+    What strange things may his eyes see,
+    Great blue eyes fix'd full on me?
+    On his soul, Lord, have mercy.
+
+              SIR GALAHAD.
+
+    Ozana, shall I pray for thee?
+    Her cheek is laid to thine;
+    No long time hence, also I see
+      Thy wasted fingers twine
+
+    Within the tresses of her hair
+      That shineth gloriously,
+    Thinly outspread in the clear air
+      Against the jasper sea.
+
+
+
+
+SIR PETER HARPDON'S END
+
+
+
+
+SIR PETER HARPDON'S END
+
+
+ _In an English Castle in Poictou._
+
+ Sir Peter Harpdon, _a Gascon knight in the English service, and_ John
+     Curzon, _his lieutenant_.
+
+              JOHN CURZON.
+
+    Of those three prisoners, that before you came
+    We took down at St. John's hard by the mill,
+    Two are good masons; we have tools enough,
+    And you have skill to set them working.
+
+
+              SIR PETER.
+
+                                            So:
+    What are their names?
+
+              JOHN CURZON.
+
+                          Why, Jacques Aquadent,
+    And Peter Plombiere, but,
+
+              SIR PETER.
+
+                              What colour'd hair
+    Has Peter now? has Jacques got bow legs?
+
+              JOHN CURZON.
+
+    Why, sir, you jest: what matters Jacques' hair,
+    Or Peter's legs to us?
+
+              SIR PETER.
+
+                            O! John, John, John!
+    Throw all your mason's tools down the deep well,
+    Hang Peter up and Jacques; They're no good,
+    We shall not build, man.
+
+              JOHN CURZON (_going_).
+
+                              Shall I call the guard
+    To hang them, sir? and yet, sir, for the tools,
+    We'd better keep them still; sir, fare you well.
+                                      [_Muttering as he goes._
+    What have I done that he should jape at me?
+    And why not build? the walls are weak enough,
+    And we've two masons and a heap of tools.
+                                      [_Goes, still muttering._
+
+              SIR PETER.
+
+    To think a man should have a lump like that
+    For his lieutenant! I must call him back,
+    Or else, as surely as St. George is dead,
+    He'll hang our friends the masons: here, John! John!
+
+              JOHN CURZON.
+
+    At your good service, sir.
+
+              SIR PETER.
+
+                                Come now, and talk
+    This weighty matter out; there, we've no stone
+    To mend our walls with, neither brick nor stone.
+
+              JOHN CURZON.
+
+    There is a quarry, sir, some ten miles off.
+
+              SIR PETER.
+
+    We are not strong enough to send ten men
+    Ten miles to fetch us stone enough to build.
+    In three hours' time they would be taken or slain,
+    The cursed Frenchmen ride abroad so thick.
+
+              JOHN CURZON.
+
+    But we can send some villaynes to get stone.
+
+              SIR PETER.
+
+    Alas! John, that we cannot bring them back,
+    They would go off to Clisson or Sanxere,
+    And tell them we were weak in walls and men,
+    Then down go we; for, look you, times are changed,
+    And now no longer does the country shake
+    At sound of English names; our captains fade
+    From off our muster-rolls. At Lusac bridge
+    I daresay you may even yet see the hole
+    That Chandos beat in dying; far in Spain
+    Pembroke is prisoner; Phelton prisoner here;
+    Manny lies buried in the Charterhouse;
+    Oliver Clisson turn'd these years agone;
+    The Captal died in prison; and, over all,
+    Edward the prince lies underneath the ground,
+    Edward the king is dead, at Westminster
+    The carvers smooth the curls of his long beard.
+    Everything goes to rack--eh! and we too.
+    Now, Curzon, listen; if they come, these French,
+    Whom have I got to lean on here, but you?
+    A man can die but once, will you die then,
+    Your brave sword in your hand, thoughts in your heart
+    Of all the deeds we have done here in France--
+    And yet may do? So God will have your soul,
+    Whoever has your body.
+
+              JOHN CURZON.
+
+                            Why, sir, I
+    Will fight till the last moment, until then
+    Will do whate'er you tell me. Now I see
+    We must e'en leave the walls; well, well, perhaps
+    They're stronger than I think for; pity, though!
+    For some few tons of stone, if Guesclin comes.
+
+              SIR PETER.
+
+    Farewell, John, pray you watch the Gascons well,
+    I doubt them.
+
+              JOHN CURZON.
+
+                  Truly, sir, I will watch well.      [_Goes._
+
+              SIR PETER.
+
+    Farewell, good lump! and yet, when all is said,
+    'Tis a good lump. Why then, if Guesclin comes;
+    Some dozen stones from his petrariae,
+    And, under shelter of his crossbows, just
+    An hour's steady work with pickaxes,
+    Then a great noise--some dozen swords and glaives
+    A-playing on my basnet all at once,
+    And little more cross purposes on earth
+    For me.
+            Now this is hard: a month ago,
+    And a few minutes' talk had set things right
+    'Twixt me and Alice; if she had a doubt,
+    As, may Heaven bless her! I scarce think she had,
+    'Twas but their hammer, hammer in her ears,
+    Of how Sir Peter fail'd at Lusac Bridge:
+    And how he was grown moody of late days;
+    And how Sir Lambert, think now! his dear friend,
+    His sweet, dear cousin, could not but confess
+    That Peter's talk tended towards the French,
+    Which he, for instance Lambert, was glad of,
+    Being, Lambert, you see, on the French side.
+                                                  Well,
+    If I could but have seen her on that day,
+    Then, when they sent me off!
+                                  I like to think,
+    Although it hurts me, makes my head twist, what,
+    If I had seen her, what I should have said,
+    What she, my darling, would have said and done.
+    As thus perchance.
+                        To find her sitting there,
+    In the window-seat, not looking well at all,
+    Crying perhaps, and I say quietly:
+    Alice! she looks up, chokes a sob, looks grave,
+    Changes from pale to red, but, ere she speaks,
+    Straightway I kneel down there on both my knees,
+    And say: O lady, have I sinn'd, your knight?
+    That still you ever let me walk alone
+    In the rose garden, that you sing no songs
+    When I am by, that ever in the dance
+    You quietly walk away when I come near?
+    Now that I have you, will you go, think you?
+
+      Ere she could answer I would speak again,
+    Still kneeling there.
+                          What! they have frighted you,
+    By hanging burs, and clumsily carven puppets,
+    Round my good name; but afterwards, my love,
+    I will say what this means; this moment, see!
+    Do I kneel here, and can you doubt me? Yea:
+    For she would put her hands upon my face:
+    Yea, that is best, yea feel, love, am I changed?
+    And she would say: Good knight, come, kiss my lips!
+    And afterwards as I sat there would say:
+
+    Please a poor silly girl by telling me
+    What all those things they talk of really were,
+    For it is true you did not help Chandos,
+    And true, poor love! you could not come to me
+    When I was in such peril.
+                              I should say:
+    I am like Balen, all things turn to blame.
+    I did not come to you? At Bergerath
+    The constable had held us close shut up,
+    If from the barriers I had made three steps,
+    I should have been but slain; at Lusac, too,
+    We struggled in a marish half the day,
+    And came too late at last: you know, my love,
+    How heavy men and horses are all arm'd.
+    All that Sir Lambert said was pure, unmix'd,
+    Quite groundless lies; as you can think, sweet love.
+
+    She, holding tight my hand as we sat there,
+    Started a little at Sir Lambert's name,
+    But otherwise she listen'd scarce at all
+    To what I said. Then with moist, weeping eyes,
+    And quivering lips, that scarcely let her speak,
+    She said: I love you.
+                          Other words were few,
+    The remnant of that hour; her hand smooth'd down
+    My foolish head; she kiss'd me all about
+    My face, and through the tangles of my beard
+    Her little fingers crept!
+
+                              O God, my Alice,
+    Not this good way: my lord but sent and said
+    That Lambert's sayings were taken at their worth,
+    Therefore that day I was to start, and keep
+    This hold against the French; and I am here:
+                                [_Looks out of the window._
+    A sprawling lonely garde with rotten walls,
+    And no one to bring aid if Guesclin comes,
+    Or any other.
+                  There's a pennon now!
+    At last.
+              But not the constable's: whose arms,
+    I wonder, does it bear? Three golden rings
+    On a red ground; my cousin's by the rood!
+    Well, I should like to kill him, certainly,
+    But to be kill'd by him:      [_A trumpet sounds._
+                              That's for a herald;
+    I doubt this does not mean assaulting yet.
+
+              _Enter_ John Curzon.
+
+    What says the herald of our cousin, sir?
+
+              JOHN CURZON.
+
+    So please you, sir, concerning your estate,
+    He has good will to talk with you.
+
+              SIR PETER.
+
+                                        Outside,
+    I'll talk with him, close by the gate St. Ives.
+    Is he unarm'd?
+
+              JOHN CURZON.
+
+                    Yea, sir, in a long gown.
+
+              SIR PETER.
+
+    Then bid them bring me hither my furr'd gown
+    With the long sleeves, and under it I'll wear,
+    By Lambert's leave, a secret coat of mail;
+    And will you lend me, John, your little axe?
+    I mean the one with Paul wrought on the blade?
+    And I will carry it inside my sleeve,
+    Good to be ready always; you, John, go
+    And bid them set up many suits of arms,
+    Bows, archgays, lances, in the base-court, and
+    Yourself, from the south postern setting out,
+    With twenty men, be ready to break through
+    Their unguarded rear when I cry out, St. George!
+
+              JOHN CURZON.
+
+    How, sir! will you attack him unawares,
+    And slay him unarm'd?
+
+              SIR PETER.
+
+                          Trust me, John, I know
+    The reason why he comes here with sleeved gown,
+    Fit to hide axes up. So, let us go.      [_They go._
+
+
+ _Outside the castle by the great gate;_ Sir Lambert _and_ Sir Peter
+     _seated; guards attending each, the rest of_ Sir Lambert's _men
+     drawn up about a furlong off._
+
+              SIR PETER.
+
+    And if I choose to take the losing side
+    Still, does it hurt you?
+
+              SIR LAMBERT.
+
+                              O! no hurt to me;
+    I see you sneering, Why take trouble then,
+    Seeing you love me not? Look you, our house
+    (Which, taken altogether, I love much)
+    Had better be upon the right side now,
+    If, once for all, it wishes to bear rule
+    As such a house should: cousin, you're too wise
+    To feed your hope up fat, that this fair France
+    Will ever draw two ways again; this side
+    The French, wrong-headed, all a-jar
+    With envious longings; and the other side
+    The order'd English, orderly led on
+    By those two Edwards through all wrong and right,
+    And muddling right and wrong to a thick broth
+    With that long stick, their strength. This is all changed,
+    The true French win, on either side you have
+    Cool-headed men, good at a tilting match,
+    And good at setting battles in array,
+    And good at squeezing taxes at due time;
+    Therefore by nature we French being here
+    Upon our own big land:      [_Sir Peter laughs aloud._
+                            Well, Peter! well!
+    What makes you laugh?
+
+              SIR PETER.
+
+                          Hearing you sweat to prove
+    All this I know so well; but you have read
+    The siege of Troy?
+
+              SIR LAMBERT.
+
+                      O! yea, I know it well.
+
+              SIR PETER.
+
+    There! they were wrong, as wrong as men could be
+    For, as I think, they found it such delight
+    To see fair Helen going through their town;
+    Yea, any little common thing she did
+    (As stooping to pick a flower) seem'd so strange,
+    So new in its great beauty, that they said:
+    Here we will keep her living in this town,
+    Till all burns up together. And so, fought,
+    In a mad whirl of knowing they were wrong;
+    Yea, they fought well, and ever, like a man
+    That hangs legs off the ground by both his hands,
+    Over some great height, did they struggle sore,
+    Quite sure to slip at last; wherefore, take note
+    How almost all men, reading that sad siege,
+    Hold for the Trojans; as I did at least,
+    Thought Hector the best knight a long way:
+                                                Now
+    Why should I not do this thing that I think;
+    For even when I come to count the gains,
+    I have them my side: men will talk, you know
+    (We talk of Hector, dead so long agone,)
+    When I am dead, of how this Peter clung
+    To what he thought the right; of how he died,
+    Perchance, at last, doing some desperate deed
+    Few men would care do now, and this is gain
+    To me, as ease and money is to you.
+    Moreover, too, I like the straining game
+    Of striving well to hold up things that fall;
+    So one becomes great. See you! in good times
+    All men live well together, and you, too,
+    Live dull and happy: happy? not so quick,
+    Suppose sharp thoughts begin to burn you up?
+    Why then, but just to fight as I do now,
+    A halter round my neck, would be great bliss.
+    O! I am well off.                            [_Aside._
+                      Talk, and talk, and talk,
+    I know this man has come to murder me,
+    And yet I talk still.
+
+              SIR LAMBERT.
+
+                          If your side were right,
+    You might be, though you lost; but if I said,
+    'You are a traitor, being, as you are,
+    Born Frenchman.' What are Edwards unto you,
+    Or Richards?
+
+              SIR PETER.
+
+                  Nay, hold there, my Lambert, hold!
+    For fear your zeal should bring you to some harm,
+    Don't call me traitor.
+
+              SIR LAMBERT.
+
+                            Furthermore, my knight,
+    Men call you slippery on your losing side,
+    When at Bordeaux I was ambassador,
+    I heard them say so, and could scarce say: Nay.
+                             [_He takes hold of something in
+                                  his sleeve, and rises._
+
+              SIR PETER, _rising_.
+
+    They lied: and you lie, not for the first time.
+    What have you got there, fumbling up your sleeve,
+    A stolen purse?
+
+              SIR LAMBERT.
+
+                    Nay, liar in your teeth!
+    Dead liar too; St. Denis and St. Lambert!
+                      [_Strikes at_ Sir Peter _with a dagger_.
+
+              SIR PETER, _striking him flatlings with his axe_.
+
+    How thief! thief! thief! so there, fair thief, so there,
+    St. George Guienne! glaives for the castellan!
+    You French, you are but dead, unless you lay
+    Your spears upon the earth. St. George Guienne!
+
+    Well done, John Curzon, how he has them now.
+
+
+ _In the Castle._
+
+              JOHN CURZON.
+
+    What shall we do with all these prisoners, sir?
+
+              SIR PETER.
+
+    Why, put them all to ransom, those that can
+    Pay anything, but not too light though, John,
+    Seeing we have them on the hip: for those
+    That have no money, that being certified,
+    Why, turn them out of doors before they spy;
+    But bring Sir Lambert guarded unto me.
+
+              JOHN CURZON.
+
+    I will, fair sir.                           [_He goes._
+
+              SIR PETER.
+
+                      I do not wish to kill him,
+    Although I think I ought; he shall go mark'd,
+    By all the saints, though!
+              _Enter_ Lambert _guarded_.
+                                Now, Sir Lambert, now!
+    What sort of death do you expect to get,
+    Being taken this way?
+
+              SIR LAMBERT.
+
+                          Cousin! cousin! think!
+    I am your own blood; may God pardon me!
+    I am not fit to die; if you knew all,
+    All I have done since I was young and good.
+    O! you would give me yet another chance,
+    As God would, that I might wash all clear out,
+    By serving you and Him. Let me go now!
+    And I will pay you down more golden crowns
+    Of ransom than the king would!
+
+              SIR PETER.
+
+                                    Well, stand back,
+    And do not touch me! No, you shall not die,
+    Nor yet pay ransom. You, John Curzon, cause
+    Some carpenters to build a scaffold, high,
+    Outside the gate; when it is built, sound out
+    To all good folks, 'Come, see a traitor punish'd!'
+    Take me my knight, and set him up thereon,
+    And let the hangman shave his head quite clean,
+    And cut his ears off close up to the head;
+    And cause the minstrels all the while to play
+    Soft music, and good singing; for this day
+    Is my high day of triumph; is it not,
+    Sir Lambert?
+
+              SIR LAMBERT.
+
+                  Ah! on your own blood,
+    Own name, you heap this foul disgrace? you dare,
+    With hands and fame thus sullied, to go back
+    And take the lady Alice?
+
+              SIR PETER.
+
+                              Say her name
+    Again, and you are dead, slain here by me.
+    Why should I talk with you? I'm master here,
+    And do not want your schooling; is it not
+    My mercy that you are not dangling dead
+    There in the gateway with a broken neck?
+
+              SIR LAMBERT.
+
+    Such mercy! why not kill me then outright?
+    To die is nothing; but to live that all
+    May point their fingers! yea, I'd rather die.
+
+              JOHN CURZON.
+
+    Why, will it make you any uglier man
+    To lose your ears? they're much too big for you,
+    You ugly Judas!
+
+              SIR PETER.
+
+                    Hold, John!      [_To_ Lambert.
+                                That's your choice,
+    To die, mind! Then you shall die: Lambert mine,
+    I thank you now for choosing this so well,
+    It saves me much perplexity and doubt;
+    Perchance an ill deed too, for half I count
+    This sparing traitors is an ill deed.
+                                          Well,
+    Lambert, die bravely, and we're almost friends.
+
+              SIR LAMBERT, _grovelling_.
+
+    O God! this is a fiend and not a man;
+    Will some one save me from him? help, help, help!
+    I will not die.
+
+              SIR PETER.
+
+                    Why, what is this I see?
+    A man who is a knight, and bandied words
+    So well just now with me, is lying down,
+    Gone mad for fear like this! So, so, you thought
+    You knew the worst, and might say what you pleased.
+    I should have guess'd this from a man like you.
+    Eh! righteous Job would give up skin for skin,
+    Yea, all a man can have for simple life,
+    And we talk fine, yea, even a hound like this,
+    Who needs must know that when he dies, deep hell
+    Will hold him fast for ever, so fine we talk,
+    'Would rather die,' all that. Now sir, get up!
+    And choose again: shall it be head sans ears,
+    Or trunk sans head?
+                        John Curzon, pull him up!
+    What, life then? go and build the scaffold, John.
+      Lambert, I hope that never on this earth
+    We meet again; that you'll turn out a monk,
+    And mend the life I give you, so farewell,
+    I'm sorry you're a rascal. John, despatch.
+
+
+ _In the French camp before the Castle._
+
+ Sir Peter _prisoner_, Guesclin, Clisson, Sir Lambert.
+
+              SIR PETER.
+
+    So now is come the ending of my life;
+    If I could clear this sickening lump away
+    That sticks in my dry throat, and say a word,
+    Guesclin might listen.
+
+              GUESCLIN.
+
+                            Tell me, fair sir knight,
+    If you have been clean liver before God,
+    And then you need not fear much; as for me,
+    I cannot say I hate you, yet my oath,
+    And cousin Lambert's ears here clench the thing.
+
+              SIR PETER.
+
+    I knew you could not hate me, therefore I
+    Am bold to pray for life; 'twill harm your cause
+    To hang knights of good name, harms here in France
+    I have small doubt, at any rate hereafter
+    Men will remember you another way
+    Than I should care to be remember'd, ah!
+    Although hot lead runs through me for my blood,
+    All this falls cold as though I said, Sweet lords,
+    Give back my falcon!
+                          See how young I am,
+    Do you care altogether more for France,
+    Say rather one French faction, than for all
+    The state of Christendom? a gallant knight,
+    As (yea, by God!) I have been, is more worth
+    Than many castles; will you bring this death,
+    For a mere act of justice, on my head?
+
+      Think how it ends all, death! all other things
+    Can somehow be retrieved, yea, send me forth
+    Naked and maimed, rather than slay me here;
+    Then somehow will I get me other clothes,
+    And somehow will I get me some poor horse,
+    And, somehow clad in poor old rusty arms,
+    Will ride and smite among the serried glaives,
+    Fear not death so; for I can tilt right well,
+    Let me not say I could; I know all tricks,
+    That sway the sharp sword cunningly; ah you,
+    You, my Lord Clisson, in the other days
+    Have seen me learning these, yea, call to mind,
+    How in the trodden corn by Chartres town,
+    When you were nearly swooning from the back
+    Of your black horse, those three blades slid at once
+    From off my sword's edge; pray for me, my lord!
+
+              CLISSON.
+
+    Nay, this is pitiful, to see him die.
+    My Lord the Constable, I pray you note
+    That you are losing some few thousand crowns
+    By slaying this man; also think: his lands
+    Along the Garonne river lie for leagues,
+    And are right rich, a many mills he has,
+    Three abbeys of grey monks do hold of him:
+    Though wishing well for Clement, as we do,
+    I know the next heir, his old uncle, well,
+    Who does not care two deniers for the knight
+    As things go now, but slay him, and then see,
+    How he will bristle up like any perch,
+    With curves of spears. What! do not doubt, my lord,
+    You'll get the money, this man saved my life,
+    And I will buy him for two thousand crowns;
+    Well, five then: eh! what! No again? well then,
+    Ten thousand crowns?
+
+              GUESCLIN.
+
+                          My sweet lord, much I grieve
+    I cannot please you, yea, good sooth, I grieve
+    This knight must die, as verily he must;
+    For I have sworn it, so men take him out,
+    Use him not roughly.
+
+              SIR LAMBERT, _coming forward_.
+
+                          Music, do you know,
+    Music will suit you well, I think, because
+    You look so mild, like Laurence being grill'd;
+    Or perhaps music soft and slow, because
+    This is high day of triumph unto me,
+    Is it not, Peter?
+                      You are frighten'd, though,
+    Eh! you are pale, because this hurts you much,
+    Whose life was pleasant to you, not like mine,
+    You ruin'd wretch! Men mock me in the streets,
+    Only in whispers loud, because I am
+    Friend of the constable; will this please you,
+    Unhappy Peter? once a-going home,
+    Without my servants, and a little drunk,
+    At midnight through the lone dim lamp-lit streets.
+    A whore came up and spat into my eyes,
+    Rather to blind me than to make me see,
+    But she was very drunk, and tottering back,
+    Even in the middle of her laughter fell
+    And cut her head against the pointed stones,
+    While I lean'd on my staff, and look'd at her,
+    And cried, being drunk.
+                            Girls would not spit at you.
+    You are so handsome, I think verily
+    Most ladies would be glad to kiss your eyes,
+    And yet you will be hung like a cur dog
+    Five minutes hence, and grow black in the face,
+    And curl your toes up. Therefore I am glad.
+
+      Guess why I stand and talk this nonsense now,
+    With Guesclin getting ready to play chess,
+    And Clisson doing something with his sword,
+    I can't see what, talking to Guesclin though,
+    I don't know what about, perhaps of you.
+    But, cousin Peter, while I stroke your beard,
+    Let me say this, I'd like to tell you now
+    That your life hung upon a game of chess,
+    That if, say, my squire Robert here should beat,
+    Why you should live, but hang if I beat him;
+    Then guess, clever Peter, what I should do then:
+    Well, give it up? why, Peter, I should let
+    My squire Robert beat me, then you would think
+    That you were safe, you know; Eh? not at all,
+    But I should keep you three days in some hold,
+    Giving you salt to eat, which would be kind,
+    Considering the tax there is on salt;
+    And afterwards should let you go, perhaps?
+    No I should not, but I should hang you, sir,
+    With a red rope in lieu of mere grey rope.
+
+    But I forgot, you have not told me yet
+    If you can guess why I talk nonsense thus,
+    Instead of drinking wine while you are hang'd?
+    You are not quick at guessing, give it up.
+    This is the reason; here I hold your hand,
+    And watch you growing paler, see you writhe
+    And this, my Peter, is a joy so dear,
+    I cannot by all striving tell you how
+    I love it, nor I think, good man, would you
+    Quite understand my great delight therein;
+    You, when you had me underneath you once,
+    Spat as it were, and said, 'Go take him out,'
+    That they might do that thing to me whereat,
+    E'en now this long time off I could well shriek,
+    And then you tried forget I ever lived,
+    And sunk your hating into other things;
+    While I: St. Denis! though, I think you'll faint,
+    Your lips are grey so; yes, you will, unless
+    You let it out and weep like a hurt child;
+    Hurrah! you do now. Do not go just yet,
+    For I am Alice, am right like her now,
+    Will you not kiss me on the lips, my love?
+
+              CLISSON.
+
+    You filthy beast, stand back and let him go,
+    Or by God's eyes I'll choke you!
+                              [_Kneeling to_ Sir Peter.
+                                      Fair sir knight
+    I kneel upon my knees and pray to you
+    That you would pardon me for this your death;
+    God knows how much I wish you still alive,
+    Also how heartily I strove to save
+    Your life at this time; yea, he knows quite well,
+    (I swear it, so forgive me!) how I would,
+    If it were possible, give up my life
+    Upon this grass for yours; fair knight, although,
+    He knowing all things knows this thing too, well,
+    Yet when you see his face some short time hence,
+    Tell him I tried to save you.
+
+              SIR PETER.
+
+                                  O! my lord,
+    I cannot say this is as good as life,
+    But yet it makes me feel far happier now,
+    And if at all, after a thousand years,
+    I see God's face, I will speak loud and bold,
+    And tell Him you were kind, and like Himself;
+    Sir, may God bless you!
+                            Did you note how I
+    Fell weeping just now? pray you, do not think
+    That Lambert's taunts did this, I hardly heard
+    The base things that he said, being deep in thought
+    Of all things that have happen'd since I was
+    A little child; and so at last I thought
+    Of my true lady: truly, sir, it seem'd
+    No longer gone than yesterday, that this
+    Was the sole reason God let me be born
+    Twenty-five years ago, that I might love
+    Her, my sweet lady, and be loved by her;
+    This seem'd so yesterday, to-day death comes,
+    And is so bitter strong, I cannot see
+    Why I was born.
+                    But as a last request,
+    I pray you, O kind Clisson, send some man,
+    Some good man, mind you, to say how I died,
+    And take my last love to her: fare-you-well,
+    And may God keep you; I must go now, lest
+    I grow too sick with thinking on these things;
+    Likewise my feet are wearied of the earth,
+    From whence I shall be lifted upright soon.
+                                           [_As he goes._
+    Ah me! shamed too, I wept at fear of death;
+    And yet not so, I only wept because
+    There was no beautiful lady to kiss me
+    Before I died, and sweetly wish good speed
+    From her dear lips. O for some lady, though
+    I saw her ne'er before; Alice, my love,
+    I do not ask for; Clisson was right kind,
+    If he had been a woman, I should die
+    Without this sickness: but I am all wrong,
+    So wrong, and hopelessly afraid to die.
+    There, I will go.
+                      My God! how sick I am,
+    If only she could come and kiss me now.
+
+
+ _The Hotel de la Barde, Bordeaux._
+
+ _The_ Lady Alice de la Barde _looking out of a window into the street_.
+
+    No news yet! surely, still he holds his own:
+    That garde stands well; I mind me passing it
+    Some months ago; God grant the walls are strong!
+    I heard some knights say something yestereve,
+    I tried hard to forget: words far apart
+    Struck on my heart something like this; one said:
+    What eh! a Gascon with an English name,
+    Harpdon? then nought, but afterwards: Poictou.
+    As one who answers to a question ask'd,
+    Then carelessly regretful came: No, no.
+    Whereto in answer loud and eagerly,
+    One said: Impossible? Christ, what foul play!
+    And went off angrily; and while thenceforth
+    I hurried gaspingly afraid, I heard:
+    Guesclin; Five thousand men-at-arms; Clisson.
+    My heart misgives me it is all in vain
+    I send these succours; and in good time there
+    Their trumpet sounds: ah! here they are; good knights,
+    God up in Heaven keep you.
+                                If they come
+    And find him prisoner, for I can't believe
+    Guesclin will slay him, even though they storm.
+    The last horse turns the corner.
+                                      God in Heaven!
+    What have I got to thinking of at last!
+    That thief I will not name is with Guesclin,
+    Who loves him for his lands. My love! my love!
+    O, if I lose you after all the past,
+    What shall I do?
+                      I cannot bear the noise
+    And light street out there, with this thought alive,
+    Like any curling snake within my brain;
+    Let me just hide my head within these soft
+    Deep cushions, there to try and think it out.
+                                [_Lying in the window-seat._
+    I cannot hear much noise now, and I think
+    That I shall go to sleep: it all sounds dim
+    And faint, and I shall soon forget most things;
+    Yea, almost that I am alive and here;
+    It goes slow, comes slow, like a big mill-wheel
+    On some broad stream, with long green weeds a-sway,
+    And soft and slow it rises and it falls,
+    Still going onward.
+                        Lying so, one kiss,
+    And I should be in Avalon asleep,
+    Among the poppies, and the yellow flowers;
+    And they should brush my cheek, my hair being spread
+    Far out among the stems; soft mice and small
+    Eating and creeping all about my feet,
+    Red shod and tired; and the flies should come
+    Creeping o'er my broad eyelids unafraid;
+    And there should be a noise of water going,
+    Clear blue fresh water breaking on the slates,
+    Likewise the flies should creep: God's eyes! God help!
+    A trumpet? I will run fast, leap adown
+    The slippery sea-stairs, where the crabs fight.
+                                                    Ah!
+    I was half dreaming, but the trumpet's true;
+    He stops here at our house. The Clisson arms?
+    Ah, now for news. But I must hold my heart,
+    And be quite gentle till he is gone out;
+    And afterwards: but he is still alive,
+    He must be still alive.
+
+              _Enter a_ Squire _of_ Clisson's.
+
+                            Good day, fair sir,
+    I give you welcome, knowing whence you come.
+
+              SQUIRE.
+
+    My Lady Alice de la Barde, I come
+    From Oliver Clisson, knight and mighty lord,
+    Bringing you tidings: I make bold to hope
+    You will not count me villain, even if
+    They wring your heart, nor hold me still in hate;
+    For I am but a mouthpiece after all,
+    A mouthpiece, too, of one who wishes well
+    To you and your's.
+
+              ALICE.
+
+                        Can you talk faster, sir,
+    Get over all this quicker? fix your eyes
+    On mine, I pray you, and whate'er you see,
+    Still go on talking fast, unless I fall,
+    Or bid you stop.
+
+              SQUIRE.
+
+                      I pray your pardon then,
+    And, looking in your eyes, fair lady, say
+    I am unhappy that your knight is dead.
+    Take heart, and listen! let me tell you all.
+    We were five thousand goodly men-at-arms,
+    And scant five hundred had he in that hold:
+    His rotten sand-stone walls were wet with rain,
+    And fell in lumps wherever a stone hit;
+    Yet for three days about the barrier there
+    The deadly glaives were gather'd, laid across,
+    And push'd and pull'd; the fourth our engines came;
+    But still amid the crash of falling walls,
+    And roar of lombards, rattle of hard bolts,
+    The steady bow-strings flash'd, and still stream'd out
+    St. George's banner, and the seven swords,
+    And still they cried: St. George Guienne! until
+    Their walls were flat as Jericho's of old,
+    And our rush came, and cut them from the keep.
+
+              ALICE.
+
+    Stop, sir, and tell me if you slew him then,
+    And where he died, if you can really mean
+    That Peter Harpdon, the good knight, is dead?
+
+              SQUIRE.
+
+    Fair lady, in the base-court:
+
+              ALICE.
+
+                                  What base-court?
+    What do you talk of? Nay, go on, go on;
+    'Twas only something gone within my head:
+    Do you not know, one turns one's head round quick,
+    And something cracks there with sore pain? go on,
+    And still look at my eyes.
+
+              SQUIRE.
+
+                                Almost alone,
+    There in the base-court fought he with his sword,
+    Using his left hand much, more than the wont
+    Of most knights now-a-days; our men gave back,
+    For wheresoever he hit a downright blow,
+    Some one fell bleeding, for no plate could hold
+    Against the sway of body and great arm;
+    Till he grew tired, and some man (no! not I,
+    I swear not I, fair lady, as I live!)
+    Thrust at him with a glaive between the knees,
+    And threw him; down he fell, sword undermost;
+    Many fell on him, crying out their cries,
+    Tore his sword from him, tore his helm off, and:
+
+              ALICE.
+
+    Yea, slew him: I am much too young to live,
+    Fair God, so let me die!
+                              You have done well,
+    Done all your message gently, pray you go,
+    Our knights will make you cheer; moreover, take
+    This bag of franks for your expenses.
+                                      [_The Squire kneels._
+                                          But
+    You do not go; still looking at my face,
+    You kneel! what, squire, do you mock me then?
+    You need not tell me who has set you on,
+    But tell me only, 'tis a made-up tale.
+    You are some lover may-be or his friend;
+    Sir, if you loved me once, or your friend loved,
+    Think, is it not enough that I kneel down
+    And kiss your feet? your jest will be right good
+    If you give in now; carry it too far,
+    And 'twill be cruel: not yet? but you weep
+    Almost, as though you loved me; love me then,
+    And go to Heaven by telling all your sport,
+    And I will kiss you then with all my heart,
+    Upon the mouth: O! what can I do then
+    To move you?
+
+              SQUIRE.
+
+                  Lady fair, forgive me still!
+    You know I am so sorry, but my tale
+    Is not yet finish'd:
+                          So they bound his hands,
+    And brought him tall and pale to Guesclin's tent,
+    Who, seeing him, leant his head upon his hand,
+    And ponder'd somewhile, afterwards, looking up:
+    Fair dame, what shall I say?
+
+              ALICE.
+
+                                  Yea, I know now,
+    Good squire, you may go now with my thanks.
+
+              SQUIRE.
+
+    Yet, lady, for your own sake I say this,
+    Yea, for my own sake, too, and Clisson's sake.
+    When Guesclin told him he must be hanged soon,
+    Within a while he lifted up his head
+    And spoke for his own life; not crouching, though,
+    As abjectly afraid to die, nor yet
+    Sullenly brave as many a thief will die,
+    Nor yet as one that plays at japes with God:
+    Few words he spoke; not so much what he said
+    Moved us, I think, as, saying it, there played
+    Strange tenderness from that big soldier there
+    About his pleading; eagerness to live
+    Because folk loved him, and he loved them back,
+    And many gallant plans unfinish'd now
+    For ever. Clisson's heart, which may God bless!
+    Was moved to pray for him, but all in vain;
+    Wherefore I bring this message:
+                                    That he waits,
+    Still loving you, within the little church
+    Whose windows, with the one eye of the light
+    Over the altar, every night behold
+    The great dim broken walls he strove to keep!
+
+    There my Lord Clisson did his burial well.
+    Now, lady, I will go: God give you rest!
+
+              ALICE.
+
+    Thank Clisson from me, squire, and farewell!
+    And now to keep myself from going mad.
+    Christ! I have been a many times to church,
+    And, ever since my mother taught me prayers,
+    Have used them daily, but to-day I wish
+    To pray another way; come face to face,
+    O Christ, that I may clasp your knees and pray
+    I know not what; at any rate come now
+    From one of many places where you are,
+    Either in Heaven amid thick angel wings,
+    Or sitting on the altar strange with gems,
+    Or high up in the duskness of the apse;
+    Let us go, You and I, a long way off,
+    To the little damp, dark, Poitevin church.
+    While you sit on the coffin in the dark,
+    Will I lie down, my face on the bare stone
+    Between your feet, and chatter anything
+    I have heard long ago. What matters it
+    So I may keep you there, your solemn face
+    And long hair even-flowing on each side,
+    Until you love me well enough to speak,
+    And give me comfort? yea, till o'er your chin,
+    And cloven red beard the great tears roll down
+    In pity for my misery, and I die,
+    Kissed over by you.
+                        Eh Guesclin! if I were
+    Like Countess Mountfort now, that kiss'd the knight,
+    Across the salt sea come to fight for her:
+    Ah! just to go about with many knights,
+    Wherever you went, and somehow on one day,
+    In a thick wood to catch you off your guard,
+    Let you find, you and your some fifty friends,
+    Nothing but arrows wheresoe'er you turn'd,
+    Yea, and red crosses, great spears over them;
+    And so, between a lane of my true men,
+    To walk up pale and stern and tall, and with
+    My arms on my surcoat, and his therewith,
+    And then to make you kneel, O knight Guesclin;
+    And then: alas! alas! when all is said,
+    What could I do but let you go again,
+    Being pitiful woman? I get no revenge,
+    Whatever happens; and I get no comfort:
+    I am but weak, and cannot move my feet,
+    But as men bid me.
+                        Strange I do not die.
+    Suppose this has not happen'd after all?
+    I will lean out again and watch for news.
+
+    I wonder how long I can still feel thus,
+    As though I watch'd for news, feel as I did
+    Just half-an-hour ago, before this news.
+    How all the street is humming, some men sing,
+    And some men talk; some look up at the house,
+    Then lay their heads together and look grave:
+    Their laughter pains me sorely in the heart;
+    Their thoughtful talking makes my head turn round:
+    Yea, some men sing, what is it then they sing?
+    Eh? Launcelot, and love and fate and death:
+    They ought to sing of him who was as wight
+    As Launcelot or Wade, and yet avail'd
+    Just nothing, but to fail and fail and fail,
+    And so at last to die and leave me here,
+    Alone and wretched; yea, perhaps they will,
+    When many years are past, make songs of us:
+    God help me, though, truly I never thought
+    That I should make a story in this way,
+    A story that his eyes can never see.
+
+          [_One sings from outside._]
+
+          _Therefore be it believed
+          Whatsoever he grieved,
+          When his horse was relieved,
+              This Launcelot,_
+
+          _Beat down on his knee,
+          Right valiant was he
+          God's body to see,
+              Though he saw it not._
+
+          _Right valiant to move,
+          But for his sad love
+          The high God above
+              Stinted his praise._
+
+          _Yet so he was glad
+          That his son, Lord Galahad,
+          That high joyaunce had
+              All his life-days._
+
+          _Sing we therefore then
+          Launcelot's praise again,
+          For he wan crownés ten,
+              If he wan not twelve._
+
+          _To his death from his birth
+          He was mickle of worth,
+          Lay him in the cold earth,
+              A long grave ye may delve._
+
+          _Omnes homines benedicite!
+          This last fitte ye may see,
+          All men pray for me
+          Who made this history
+          Cunning and fairly._
+
+
+
+
+RAPUNZEL
+
+
+
+
+RAPUNZEL
+
+
+              THE PRINCE, _being in the wood near the tower, in the
+                        evening_.
+
+    I could not even think
+      What made me weep that day,
+    When out of the council-hall
+      The courtiers pass'd away,--
+
+              THE WITCH.
+
+        Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
+        Let down your hair!
+
+              RAPUNZEL.
+
+    Is it not true that every day
+    She climbeth up the same strange way,
+    Her scarlet cloak spread broad and gay,
+        Over my golden hair?
+
+              THE PRINCE.
+
+    And left me there alone,
+      To think on what they said:
+    'Thou art a king's own son,
+      'Tis fit that thou should'st wed.'
+
+              THE WITCH.
+
+        Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
+        Let down your hair!
+
+              RAPUNZEL.
+
+    When I undo the knotted mass,
+    Fathoms below the shadows pass
+    Over my hair along the grass.
+        O my golden hair!
+
+              THE PRINCE.
+
+    I put my armour on,
+      Thinking on what they said:
+    'Thou art a king's own son,
+      'Tis fit that thou should'st wed.'
+
+              THE WITCH.
+
+        Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
+        Let down your hair!
+
+              RAPUNZEL.
+
+    See on the marble parapet,
+    I lean my brow, strive to forget
+    That fathoms below my hair grows wet
+        With the dew, my golden hair.
+
+              THE PRINCE.
+
+    I rode throughout the town,
+      Men did not bow the head,
+    Though I was the king's own son:
+      He rides to dream, they said.
+
+              THE WITCH.
+
+        Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
+        Wind up your hair!
+
+              RAPUNZEL.
+
+    See on the marble parapet,
+    The faint red stains with tears are wet;
+    The long years pass, no help comes yet
+        To free my golden hair.
+
+              THE PRINCE.
+
+    For leagues and leagues I rode,
+      Till hot my armour grew,
+    Till underneath the leaves
+      I felt the evening dew.
+
+              THE WITCH.
+
+        Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
+        Weep through your hair!
+
+              RAPUNZEL.
+
+    And yet: but I am growing old,
+    For want of love my heart is cold;
+    Years pass, the while I loose and fold
+        The fathoms of my hair.
+
+
+              THE PRINCE, _in the morning_.
+
+    I have heard tales of men, who in the night
+      Saw paths of stars let down to earth from heaven,
+    Who followed them until they reach'd the light
+      Wherein they dwell, whose sins are all forgiven;
+
+    But who went backward when they saw the gate
+      Of diamond, nor dared to enter in;
+    All their life long they were content to wait,
+      Purging them patiently of every sin.
+
+    I must have had a dream of some such thing,
+      And now am just awaking from that dream;
+    For even in grey dawn those strange words ring
+      Through heart and brain, and still I see that gleam.
+
+    For in my dream at sunset-time I lay
+      Beneath these beeches, mail and helmet off,
+    Right full of joy that I had come away
+      From court; for I was patient of the scoff
+
+    That met me always there from day to day,
+      From any knave or coward of them all:
+    I was content to live that wretched way;
+      For truly till I left the council-hall,
+
+    And rode forth arm'd beneath the burning sun,
+      My gleams of happiness were faint and few,
+    But then I saw my real life had begun,
+      And that I should be strong quite well I knew.
+
+    For I was riding out to look for love,
+      Therefore the birds within the thickets sung,
+    Even in hot noontide; as I pass'd, above
+      The elms o'ersway'd with longing towards me hung.
+
+    Now some few fathoms from the place where I
+      Lay in the beech-wood, was a tower fair,
+    The marble corners faint against the sky;
+      And dreamily I wonder'd what lived there:
+
+    Because it seem'd a dwelling for a queen,
+      No belfry for the swinging of great bells.
+    No bolt or stone had ever crush'd the green
+      Shafts, amber and rose walls, no soot that tells
+
+    Of the Norse torches burning up the roofs,
+      On the flower-carven marble could I see;
+    But rather on all sides I saw the proofs
+      Of a great loneliness that sicken'd me;
+
+    Making me feel a doubt that was not fear,
+      Whether my whole life long had been a dream,
+    And I should wake up soon in some place, where
+      The piled-up arms of the fighting angels gleam;
+
+    Not born as yet, but going to be born,
+      No naked baby as I was at first,
+    But an armed knight, whom fire, hate and scorn
+      Could turn from nothing: my heart almost burst
+
+    Beneath the beeches, as I lay a-dreaming,
+      I tried so hard to read this riddle through,
+    To catch some golden cord that I saw gleaming
+      Like gossamer against the autumn blue.
+
+    But while I ponder'd these things, from the wood
+      There came a black-hair'd woman, tall and bold,
+    Who strode straight up to where the tower stood,
+      And cried out shrilly words, whereon behold--
+
+              THE WITCH, _from the tower_.
+
+                Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
+                Let down your hair!
+
+              THE PRINCE.
+
+    Ah Christ! it was no dream then, but there stood
+      (She comes again) a maiden passing fair,
+    Against the roof, with face turn'd to the wood,
+      Bearing within her arms waves of her yellow hair.
+
+    I read my riddle when I saw her stand,
+      Poor love! her face quite pale against her hair,
+    Praying to all the leagues of empty land
+      To save her from the woe she suffer'd there.
+
+    To think! they trod upon her golden hair
+      In the witches' sabbaths; it was a delight
+    For these foul things, while she, with thin feet bare,
+      Stood on the roof upon the winter night,
+
+    To plait her dear hair into many plaits,
+      And then, while God's eye look'd upon the thing,
+    In the very likenesses of Devil's bats,
+      Upon the ends of her long hair to swing.
+
+    And now she stood above the parapet,
+      And, spreading out her arms, let her hair flow,
+    Beneath that veil her smooth white forehead set
+      Upon the marble, more I do not know;
+
+    Because before my eyes a film of gold
+      Floated, as now it floats. O unknown love,
+    Would that I could thy yellow stair behold,
+      If still thou standest the lead roof above!
+
+              THE WITCH, _as she passes_.
+
+                Is there any who will dare
+                To climb up the yellow stair,
+                Glorious Rapunzel's golden hair?
+
+              THE PRINCE.
+
+    If it would please God make you sing again,
+      I think that I might very sweetly die,
+    My soul somehow reach heaven in joyous pain,
+      My heavy body on the beech-nuts lie.
+
+    Now I remember what a most strange year,
+      Most strange and awful, in the beechen wood
+    I have pass'd now; I still have a faint fear
+      It is a kind of dream not understood.
+
+    I have seen no one in this wood except
+      The witch and her; have heard no human tones,
+    But when the witches' revelry has crept
+      Between the very jointing of my bones.
+
+    Ah! I know now; I could not go away,
+      But needs must stop to hear her sing that song
+    She always sings at dawning of the day.
+      I am not happy here, for I am strong,
+
+    And every morning do I whet my sword,
+      Yet Rapunzel still weeps within the tower,
+    And still God ties me down to the green sward,
+      Because I cannot see the gold stair floating lower.
+
+              RAPUNZEL _sings from the tower_.
+
+              My mother taught me prayers
+              To say when I had need;
+              I have so many cares,
+              That I can take no heed
+              Of many words in them;
+              But I remember this:
+              _Christ, bring me to thy bliss.
+              Mary, maid withouten wem,
+              Keep me!_ I am lone, I wis,
+              Yet besides I have made this
+              By myself: _Give me a kiss,
+              Dear God dwelling up in heaven!_
+              Also: _Send me a true knight,
+              Lord Christ, with a steel sword, bright,
+              Broad, and trenchant; yea, and seven
+              Spans from hilt to point, O Lord!
+              And let the handle of his sword
+              Be gold on silver, Lord in heaven!
+              Such a sword as I see gleam
+              Sometimes, when they let me dream._
+
+                Yea, besides, I have made this:
+              _Lord, give Mary a dear kiss,
+              And let gold Michael, who looked down,
+              When I was there, on Rouen town
+              From the spire, bring me that kiss
+              On a lily! Lord do this!_
+
+                These prayers on the dreadful nights,
+              When the witches plait my hair,
+              And the fearfullest of sights
+              On the earth and in the air,
+              Will not let me close my eyes,
+              I murmur often, mix'd with sighs,
+              That my weak heart will not hold
+              At some things that I behold.
+              Nay, not sighs, but quiet groans,
+              That swell out the little bones
+              Of my bosom; till a trance
+              God sends in middle of that dance,
+              And I behold the countenance
+              Of Michael, and can feel no more
+              The bitter east wind biting sore
+              My naked feet; can see no more
+              The crayfish on the leaden floor,
+              That mock with feeler and grim claw.
+
+                Yea, often in that happy trance,
+              Beside the blessed countenance
+              Of golden Michael, on the spire
+              Glowing all crimson in the fire
+              Of sunset, I behold a face,
+              Which sometime, if God give me grace,
+              May kiss me in this very place.
+
+
+ _Evening in the tower._
+
+              RAPUNZEL.
+
+    It grows half way between the dark and light;
+      Love, we have been six hours here alone:
+    I fear that she will come before the night,
+      And if she finds us thus we are undone.
+
+              THE PRINCE.
+
+    Nay, draw a little nearer, that your breath
+      May touch my lips, let my cheek feel your arm;
+    Now tell me, did you ever see a death,
+      Or ever see a man take mortal harm?
+
+              RAPUNZEL.
+
+    Once came two knights and fought with swords below,
+      And while they fought I scarce could look at all,
+    My head swam so; after, a moaning low
+      Drew my eyes down; I saw against the wall
+
+    One knight lean dead, bleeding from head and breast,
+      Yet seem'd it like a line of poppies red
+    In the golden twilight, as he took his rest,
+      In the dusky time he scarcely seemed dead.
+
+    But the other, on his face, six paces off,
+      Lay moaning, and the old familiar name
+    He mutter'd through the grass, seem'd like a scoff
+      Of some lost soul remembering his past fame.
+
+    His helm all dinted lay beside him there,
+      The visor-bars were twisted towards the face,
+    The crest, which was a lady very fair,
+      Wrought wonderfully, was shifted from its place.
+
+    The shower'd mail-rings on the speedwell lay,
+      Perhaps my eyes were dazzled with the light
+    That blazed in the west, yet surely on that day
+      Some crimson thing had changed the grass from bright
+
+    Pure green I love so. But the knight who died
+      Lay there for days after the other went;
+    Until one day I heard a voice that cried:
+      Fair knight, I see Sir Robert we were sent
+
+    To carry dead or living to the king.
+      So the knights came and bore him straight away
+    On their lance truncheons, such a batter'd thing,
+      His mother had not known him on that day,
+
+    But for his helm-crest, a gold lady fair
+      Wrought wonderfully.
+
+              THE PRINCE.
+
+                            Ah, they were brothers then,
+    And often rode together, doubtless where
+      The swords were thickest, and were loyal men,
+
+    Until they fell in these same evil dreams.
+
+              RAPUNZEL.
+
+      Yea, love; but shall we not depart from hence?
+    The white moon groweth golden fast, and gleams
+      Between the aspens stems; I fear, and yet a sense
+
+    Of fluttering victory comes over me,
+      That will not let me fear aright; my heart,
+    Feel how it beats, love, strives to get to thee;
+      I breathe so fast that my lips needs must part;
+
+    Your breath swims round my mouth, but let us go.
+
+              THE PRINCE.
+
+      I, Sebald, also, pluck from off the staff
+    The crimson banner; let it lie below,
+      Above it in the wind let grasses laugh.
+
+    Now let us go, love, down the winding stair,
+      With fingers intertwined: ay, feel my sword!
+    I wrought it long ago, with golden hair
+      Flowing about the hilts, because a word,
+
+    Sung by a minstrel old, had set me dreaming
+      Of a sweet bow'd down face with yellow hair;
+    Betwixt green leaves I used to see it gleaming,
+      A half smile on the lips, though lines of care
+
+    Had sunk the cheeks, and made the great eyes hollow;
+      What other work in all the world had I,
+    But through all turns of fate that face to follow?
+      But wars and business kept me there to die.
+
+    O child, I should have slain my brother, too,
+      My brother, Love, lain moaning in the grass,
+    Had I not ridden out to look for you,
+      When I had watch'd the gilded courtiers pass
+
+    From the golden hall. But it is strange your name
+      Is not the same the minstrel sung of yore;
+    You call'd it Rapunzel, 'tis not the name.
+      See, love, the stems shine through the open door.
+
+
+ _Morning in the woods._
+
+              RAPUNZEL.
+
+    O love! me and my unknown name you have well won;
+      The witch's name was Rapunzel: eh! not so sweet?
+    No! but is this real grass, love, that I tread upon?
+      What call they these blue flowers that lean across my feet?
+
+              THE PRINCE.
+
+    Dip down your dear face in the dewy grass, O love!
+      And ever let the sweet slim harebells, tenderly hung,
+    Kiss both your parted lips; and I will hang above,
+      And try to sing that song the dreamy harper sung.
+
+              _He sings._
+
+          'Twixt the sunlight and the shade
+          Float up memories of my maid:
+                God, remember Guendolen!
+
+          Gold or gems she did not wear,
+          But her yellow rippled hair,
+                Like a veil, hid Guendolen!
+
+          'Twixt the sunlight and the shade,
+          My rough hands so strangely made,
+                Folded Golden Guendolen.
+
+          Hands used to grip the sword-hilt hard,
+          Framed her face, while on the sward
+                Tears fell down from Guendolen.
+
+          Guendolen now speaks no word,
+          Hands fold round about the sword:
+                Now no more of Guendolen.
+
+          Only 'twixt the light and shade
+          Floating memories of my maid
+                Make me pray for Guendolen.
+
+              GUENDOLEN.
+
+    I kiss thee, new-found name! but I will never go:
+      Your hands need never grip the hammer'd sword again,
+    But all my golden hair shall ever round you flow,
+      Between the light and shade from Golden Guendolen.
+
+
+ _Afterwards, in the Palace._
+
+              KING SEBALD.
+
+    I took my armour off,
+      Put on king's robes of gold;
+    Over the kirtle green
+      The gold fell fold on fold.
+
+              THE WITCH, _out of hell_.
+
+          _Guendolen! Guendolen!
+          One lock of hair!_
+
+              GUENDOLEN.
+
+    I am so glad, for every day
+    He kisses me much the same way
+    As in the tower: under the sway
+            Of all my golden hair.
+
+              KING SEBALD.
+
+    We rode throughout the town,
+      A gold crown on my head;
+    Through all the gold-hung streets,
+      Praise God! the people said.
+
+              THE WITCH.
+
+          _Gwendolen! Guendolen!
+          Lend me your hair!_
+
+              GUENDOLEN.
+
+    Verily, I seem like one
+    Who, when day is almost done,
+    Through a thick wood meets the sun
+            That blazes in her hair.
+
+              KING SEBALD.
+
+    Yea, at the palace gates,
+      Praise God! the great knights said,
+    For Sebald the high king,
+      And the lady's golden head.
+
+              THE WITCH.
+
+          _Woe is me! Guendolen
+          Sweeps back her hair._
+
+              GUENDOLEN.
+
+    Nothing wretched now, no screams;
+    I was unhappy once in dreams,
+    And even now a harsh voice seems
+                To hang about my hair.
+
+              THE WITCH.
+
+          WOE! THAT ANY MAN COULD DARE
+          TO CLIMB UP THE YELLOW STAIR,
+          GLORIOUS GUENDOLEN'S GOLDEN HAIR.
+
+
+
+
+CONCERNING GEFFRAY TESTE NOIRE
+
+
+
+
+CONCERNING GEFFRAY TESTE NOIRE
+
+
+    And if you meet the Canon of Chimay,
+      As going to Ortaise you well may do,
+    Greet him from John of Castel Neuf, and say
+      All that I tell you, for all this is true.
+
+    This Geffray Teste Noire was a Gascon thief,
+      Who, under shadow of the English name,
+    Pilled all such towns and countries as were lief
+      To King Charles and St. Denis; thought it blame
+
+    If anything escaped him; so my lord,
+      The Duke of Berry, sent Sir John Bonne Lance,
+    And other knights, good players with the sword,
+      To check this thief, and give the land a chance.
+
+    Therefore we set our bastides round the tower
+      That Geffray held, the strong thief! like a king,
+    High perch'd upon the rock of Ventadour,
+      Hopelessly strong by Christ! It was mid spring,
+
+    When first I joined the little army there
+      With ten good spears; Auvergne is hot, each day
+    We sweated armed before the barrier;
+      Good feats of arms were done there often. Eh?
+
+    Your brother was slain there? I mind me now,
+      A right good man-at-arms, God pardon him!
+    I think 'twas Geffray smote him on the brow
+      With some spiked axe, and while he totter'd, dim
+
+    About the eyes, the spear of Alleyne Roux
+      Slipped through his camaille and his throat; well, well!
+    Alleyne is paid now; your name Alleyne too?
+      Mary! how strange! but this tale I would tell:
+
+    For spite of all our bastides, damned Blackhead
+      Would ride abroad whene'er he chose to ride,
+    We could not stop him; many a burgher bled
+      Dear gold all round his girdle; far and wide
+
+    The villaynes dwelt in utter misery
+      'Twixt us and thief Sir Geffray; hauled this way
+    By Sir Bonne Lance at one time; he gone by,
+      Down comes this Teste Noire on another day.
+
+    And therefore they dig up the stone, grind corn,
+      Hew wood, draw water, yea, they lived, in short,
+    As I said just now, utterly forlorn,
+      Till this our knave and blackhead was out-fought.
+
+    So Bonne Lance fretted, thinking of some trap
+      Day after day, till on a time he said:
+    John of Newcastle, if we have good hap,
+      We catch our thief in two days. How? I said.
+
+    Why, Sir, to-day he rideth out again,
+      Hoping to take well certain sumpter mules
+    From Carcassonne, going with little train,
+      Because, forsooth, he thinketh us mere fools;
+
+    But if we set an ambush in some wood,
+      He is but dead: so, Sir, take thirty spears
+    To Verville forest, if it seem you good.
+      Then felt I like the horse in Job, who hears
+
+    The dancing trumpet sound, and we went forth;
+      And my red lion on the spear-head flapped,
+    As faster than the cool wind we rode north,
+      Towards the wood of Verville; thus it happed.
+
+    We rode a soft pace on that day, while spies
+      Got news about Sir Geffray: the red wine
+    Under the road-side bush was clear; the flies,
+      The dragon-flies I mind me most, did shine
+
+    In brighter arms than ever I put on;
+      So: Geffray, said our spies, would pass that way
+    Next day at sundown: then he must be won;
+      And so we enter'd Verville wood next day,
+
+    In the afternoon; through it the highway runs,
+      'Twixt copses of green hazel, very thick,
+    And underneath, with glimmering of suns,
+      The primroses are happy; the dews lick
+
+    The soft green moss: 'Put cloths about your arms,
+      Lest they should glitter; surely they will go
+    In a long thin line, watchful for alarms,
+      With all their carriages of booty; so,
+
+    Lay down my pennon in the grass: Lord God.
+      What have we lying here? will they be cold,
+    I wonder, being so bare, above the sod,
+      Instead of under? This was a knight too, fold
+
+    Lying on fold of ancient rusted mail;
+      No plate at all, gold rowels to the spurs,
+    And see the quiet gleam of turquoise pale
+      Along the ceinture; but the long time blurs
+
+    Even the tinder of his coat to nought,
+      Except these scraps of leather; see how white
+    The skull is, loose within the coif! He fought
+      A good fight, maybe, ere he was slain quite.
+
+    No armour on the legs too; strange in faith!
+      A little skeleton for a knight, though: ah!
+    This one is bigger, truly without scathe
+      His enemies escaped not! ribs driven out far;
+
+    That must have reach'd the heart, I doubt: how now,
+      What say you, Aldovrand, a woman? why?'
+    Under the coif a gold wreath on the brow,
+      Yea, see the hair not gone to powder, lie,
+
+    Golden, no doubt, once: yea, and very small,
+      This for a knight; but for a dame, my lord,
+    These loose-hung bones seem shapely still, and tall.
+      Didst ever see a woman's bones, my Lord?
+
+    Often, God help me! I remember when
+      I was a simple boy, fifteen years old,
+    The Jacquerie froze up the blood of men
+      With their fell deeds, not fit now to be told.
+
+    God help again! we enter'd Beauvais town,
+      Slaying them fast, whereto I help'd, mere boy
+    As I was then; we gentles cut them down,
+      These burners and defilers, with great joy.
+
+    Reason for that, too, in the great church there
+      These fiends had lit a fire, that soon went out,
+    The church at Beauvais being so great and fair:
+      My father, who was by me, gave a shout
+
+    Between a beast's howl and a woman's scream,
+      Then, panting, chuckled to me: 'John, look! look!
+    Count the dames' skeletons!' From some bad dream
+      Like a man just awaked, my father shook;
+
+    And I, being faint with smelling the burnt bones,
+      And very hot with fighting down the street,
+    And sick of such a life, fell down, with groans
+      My head went weakly nodding to my feet.
+
+    --An arrow had gone through her tender throat,
+      And her right wrist was broken; then I saw
+    The reason why she had on that war-coat,
+      Their story came out clear without a flaw;
+
+    For when he knew that they were being waylaid,
+      He threw it over her, yea, hood and all;
+    Whereby he was much hack'd, while they were stay'd
+      By those their murderers; many an one did fall
+
+    Beneath his arm, no doubt, so that he clear'd
+      Their circle, bore his death-wound out of it;
+    But as they rode, some archer least afear'd
+      Drew a strong bow, and thereby she was hit.
+
+    Still as he rode he knew not she was dead,
+      Thought her but fainted from her broken wrist,
+    He bound with his great leathern belt: she bled?
+      Who knows! he bled too, neither was there miss'd
+
+    The beating of her heart, his heart beat well
+      For both of them, till here, within this wood,
+    He died scarce sorry; easy this to tell;
+      After these years the flowers forget their blood.
+
+    How could it be? never before that day,
+      However much a soldier I might be,
+    Could I look on a skeleton and say
+      I care not for it, shudder not: now see,
+
+    Over those bones I sat and pored for hours,
+      And thought, and dream'd, and still I scarce could see
+    The small white bones that lay upon the flowers,
+      But evermore I saw the lady; she
+
+    With her dear gentle walking leading in,
+      By a chain of silver twined about her wrists,
+    Her loving knight, mounted and arm'd to win
+      Great honour for her, fighting in the lists.
+
+    O most pale face, that brings such joy and sorrow
+      Into men's hearts (yea, too, so piercing sharp
+    That joy is, that it marcheth nigh to sorrow
+      For ever, like an overwinded harp).
+
+    Your face must hurt me always: pray you now,
+      Doth it not hurt you too? seemeth some pain
+    To hold you always, pain to hold your brow
+      So smooth, unwrinkled ever; yea again,
+
+    Your long eyes where the lids seem like to drop,
+      Would you not, lady, were they shut fast, feel
+    Far merrier? there so high they will not stop,
+      They are most sly to glide forth and to steal
+
+    Into my heart; I kiss their soft lids there,
+      And in green gardens scarce can stop my lips
+    From wandering on your face, but that your hair
+      Falls down and tangles me, back my face slips.
+
+    Or say your mouth, I saw you drink red wine
+      Once at a feast; how slowly it sank in,
+    As though you fear'd that some wild fate might twine
+      Within that cup, and slay you for a sin.
+
+    And when you talk your lips do arch and move
+      In such wise that a language new I know
+    Besides their sound; they quiver, too, with love
+      When you are standing silent; know this, too,
+
+    I saw you kissing once, like a curved sword
+      That bites with all its edge, did your lips lie,
+    Curled gently, slowly, long time could afford
+      For caught-up breathings: like a dying sigh
+
+    They gather'd up their lines and went away,
+      And still kept twitching with a sort of smile,
+    As likely to be weeping presently;
+      Your hands too, how I watch'd them all the while!
+
+    Cry out St. Peter now, quoth Aldovrand;
+      I cried, St. Peter! broke out from the wood
+    With all my spears; we met them hand to hand,
+      And shortly slew them; natheless, by the rood,
+
+    We caught not Blackhead then, or any day;
+      Months after that he died at last in bed,
+    From a wound pick'd up at a barrier-fray;
+      That same year's end a steel bolt in the head,
+
+    And much bad living killed Teste Noire at last;
+      John Froissart knoweth he is dead by now,
+    No doubt, but knoweth not this tale just past;
+      Perchance then you can tell him what I show.
+
+    In my new castle, down beside the Eure,
+      There is a little chapel of squared stone,
+    Painted inside and out; in green nook pure
+      There did I lay them, every wearied bone;
+
+    And over it they lay, with stone-white hands
+      Clasped fast together, hair made bright with gold;
+    This Jaques Picard, known through many lands,
+      Wrought cunningly; he's dead now: I am old.
+
+
+
+
+A GOOD KNIGHT IN PRISON
+
+
+              SIR GUY, _being in the court of a Pagan castle_.
+
+          This castle where I dwell, it stands
+        A long way off from Christian lands,
+        A long way off my lady's hands,
+        A long way off the aspen trees,
+        And murmur of the lime-tree bees.
+
+          But down the Valley of the Rose
+        My lady often hawking goes,
+        Heavy of cheer; oft turns behind,
+        Leaning towards the western wind,
+        Because it bringeth to her mind
+        Sad whisperings of happy times,
+        The face of him who sings these rhymes.
+
+          King Guilbert rides beside her there,
+        Bends low and calls her very fair,
+        And strives, by pulling down his hair,
+        To hide from my dear lady's ken
+        The grisly gash I gave him, when
+        I cut him down at Camelot;
+        However he strives, he hides it not,
+        That tourney will not be forgot,
+        Besides, it is King Guilbert's lot,
+        Whatever he says she answers not.
+
+          Now tell me, you that are in love,
+        From the king's son to the wood-dove,
+        Which is the better, he or I?
+
+          For this king means that I should die
+        In this lone Pagan castle, where
+        The flowers droop in the bad air
+        On the September evening.
+
+          Look, now I take mine ease and sing,
+        Counting as but a little thing
+        The foolish spite of a bad king.
+
+          For these vile things that hem me in,
+        These Pagan beasts who live in sin,
+        The sickly flowers pale and wan,
+        The grim blue-bearded castellan,
+        The stanchions half worn-out with rust,
+        Whereto their banner vile they trust:
+        Why, all these things I hold them just
+        As dragons in a missal book,
+        Wherein, whenever we may look,
+        We see no horror, yea delight
+        We have, the colours are so bright;
+        Likewise we note the specks of white,
+        And the great plates of burnish'd gold.
+
+          Just so this Pagan castle old,
+        And everything I can see there,
+        Sick-pining in the marshland air,
+        I note: I will go over now,
+        Like one who paints with knitted brow,
+        The flowers and all things one by one,
+    From the snail on the wall to the setting sun.
+
+          Four great walls, and a little one
+        That leads down to the barbican,
+        Which walls with many spears they man,
+        When news comes to the castellan
+        Of Launcelot being in the land.
+
+          And as I sit here, close at hand
+        Four spikes of sad sick sunflowers stand;
+        The castellan with a long wand
+        Cuts down their leaves as he goes by,
+        Ponderingly, with screw'd-up eye,
+        And fingers twisted in his beard.
+        Nay, was it a knight's shout I heard?
+        I have a hope makes me afeard:
+        It cannot be, but if some dream
+        Just for a minute made me deem
+        I saw among the flowers there
+        My lady's face with long red hair,
+        Pale, ivory-colour'd dear face come,
+        As I was wont to see her some
+        Fading September afternoon,
+        And kiss me, saying nothing, soon
+        To leave me by myself again;
+          Could I get this by longing? vain!
+
+          The castellan is gone: I see
+        On one broad yellow flower a bee
+        Drunk with much honey.
+                                Christ! again,
+        Some distant knight's voice brings me pain,
+        I thought I had forgot to feel,
+        I never heard the blissful steel
+        These ten years past; year after year,
+        Through all my hopeless sojourn here,
+        No Christian pennon has been near.
+        Laus Deo! the dragging wind draws on
+        Over the marshes, battle won,
+        Knights' shouts, and axes hammering;
+        Yea, quicker now the dint and ring
+        Of flying hoofs; ah, castellan,
+        When they come back count man for man,
+        Say whom you miss.
+
+              THE PAGANS, _from the battlements_.
+
+                            Mahound to aid!
+        Why flee ye so like men dismay'd?
+
+              THE PAGANS, _from without_.
+
+        Nay, haste! for here is Launcelot,
+        Who follows quick upon us, hot
+        And shouting with his men-at-arms.
+
+              SIR GUY.
+
+        Also the Pagans raise alarms,
+        And ring the bells for fear; at last
+        My prison walls will be well past.
+
+              SIR LAUNCELOT, _from outside_.
+
+        Ho! in the name of the Trinity,
+        Let down the drawbridge quick to me,
+        And open doors, that I may see
+        Guy the good knight!
+
+              THE PAGANS, _from the battlements_.
+
+                              Nay, Launcelot,
+        With mere big words ye win us not.
+
+              SIR LAUNCELOT.
+
+        Bid Miles bring up la perriere,
+        And archers clear the vile walls there.
+        Bring back the notches to the ear,
+        Shoot well together! God to aid!
+        These miscreants will be well paid.
+
+        Hurrah! all goes together; Miles
+        Is good to win my lady's smiles
+        For his good shooting: Launcelot!
+        On knights apace! this game is hot!
+
+              SIR GUY _sayeth afterwards_.
+
+        I said, I go to meet her now,
+        And saying so, I felt a blow
+        From some clench'd hand across my brow,
+        And fell down on the sunflowers
+        Just as a hammering smote my ears;
+        After which this I felt in sooth,
+        My bare hands throttling without ruth
+        The hairy-throated castellan;
+        Then a grim fight with those that ran
+        To slay me, while I shouted: God
+        For the Lady Mary! deep I trod
+        That evening in my own red blood;
+        Nevertheless so stiff I stood,
+        That when the knights burst the old wood
+        Of the castle-doors, I was not dead.
+
+          I kiss the Lady Mary's head,
+        Her lips, and her hair golden red,
+        Because to-day we have been wed.
+
+
+
+
+OLD LOVE
+
+
+    You must be very old, Sir Giles,
+      I said; he said: Yea, very old!
+    Whereat the mournfullest of smiles
+      Creased his dry skin with many a fold.
+
+    They hammer'd out my basnet point
+      Into a round salade, he said,
+    The basnet being quite out of joint,
+      Natheless the salade rasps my head.
+
+    He gazed at the great fire awhile:
+      And you are getting old, Sir John;
+    (He said this with that cunning smile
+      That was most sad) we both wear on;
+
+    Knights come to court and look at me,
+      With eyebrows up; except my lord,
+    And my dear lady, none I see
+      That know the ways of my old sword.
+
+    (My lady! at that word no pang
+      Stopp'd all my blood). But tell me, John,
+    Is it quite true that Pagans hang
+      So thick about the east, that on
+
+    The eastern sea no Venice flag
+      Can fly unpaid for? True, I said,
+    And in such way the miscreants drag
+      Christ's cross upon the ground, I dread
+
+    That Constantine must fall this year.
+      Within my heart, these things are small;
+    This is not small, that things outwear
+      I thought were made for ever, yea, all,
+
+    All things go soon or late, I said.
+      I saw the duke in court next day;
+    Just as before, his grand great head
+      Above his gold robes dreaming lay,
+
+    Only his face was paler; there
+      I saw his duchess sit by him;
+    And she, she was changed more; her hair
+      Before my eyes that used to swim,
+
+    And make me dizzy with great bliss
+      Once, when I used to watch her sit,
+    Her hair is bright still, yet it is
+      As though some dust were thrown on it.
+
+    Her eyes are shallower, as though
+      Some grey glass were behind; her brow
+    And cheeks the straining bones show through,
+      Are not so good for kissing now.
+
+    Her lips are drier now she is
+      A great duke's wife these many years,
+    They will not shudder with a kiss
+      As once they did, being moist with tears.
+
+    Also her hands have lost that way
+      Of clinging that they used to have;
+    They look'd quite easy, as they lay
+      Upon the silken cushions brave
+
+    With broidery of the apples green
+      My Lord Duke bears upon his shield.
+    Her face, alas! that I have seen
+      Look fresher than an April field,
+
+    This is all gone now; gone also
+      Her tender walking; when she walks
+    She is most queenly I well know,
+      And she is fair still. As the stalks
+
+    Of faded summer-lilies are,
+      So is she grown now unto me
+    This spring-time, when the flowers star
+      The meadows, birds sing wonderfully.
+
+    I warrant once she used to cling
+      About his neck, and kiss'd him so,
+    And then his coming step would ring
+      Joy-bells for her; some time ago.
+
+    Ah! sometimes like an idle dream
+      That hinders true life overmuch,
+    Sometimes like a lost heaven, these seem.
+      This love is not so hard to smutch.
+
+
+
+
+THE GILLIFLOWER OF GOLD
+
+
+    A golden gilliflower to-day
+    I wore upon my helm alway,
+    And won the prize of this tourney.
+      _Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée._
+
+    However well Sir Giles might sit,
+    His sun was weak to wither it,
+    Lord Miles's blood was dew on it:
+      _Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée._
+
+    Although my spear in splinters flew,
+    From John's steel-coat, my eye was true;
+    I wheel'd about, and cried for you,
+      _Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée._
+
+    Yea, do not doubt my heart was good,
+    Though my sword flew like rotten wood,
+    To shout, although I scarcely stood,
+      _Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée._
+
+    My hand was steady too, to take
+    My axe from round my neck, and break
+    John's steel-coat up for my love's sake.
+      _Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée._
+
+    When I stood in my tent again,
+    Arming afresh, I felt a pain
+    Take hold of me, I was so fain,
+      _Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée._
+
+    To hear: _Honneur aux fils des preux!_
+    Right in my ears again, and shew
+    The gilliflower blossom'd new.
+      _Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée._
+
+    The Sieur Guillaume against me came,
+    His tabard bore three points of flame
+    From a red heart: with little blame,
+      _Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée._
+
+    Our tough spears crackled up like straw;
+    He was the first to turn and draw
+    His sword, that had nor speck nor flaw;
+      _Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée._
+
+    But I felt weaker than a maid,
+    And my brain, dizzied and afraid,
+    Within my helm a fierce tune play'd,
+      _Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée._
+
+    Until I thought of your dear head,
+    Bow'd to the gilliflower bed,
+    The yellow flowers stain'd with red;
+      _Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée._
+
+    Crash! how the swords met: _giroflée!_
+    The fierce tune in my helm would play,
+    _La belle! la belle! jaune giroflée!
+      Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée._
+
+    Once more the great swords met again:
+    "_La belle! la belle!_" but who fell then?
+    Le Sieur Guillaume, who struck down ten;
+      _Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée._
+
+    And as with mazed and unarm'd face,
+    Toward my own crown and the Queen's place,
+    They led me at a gentle pace.
+      _Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée._
+
+    I almost saw your quiet head
+    Bow'd o'er the gilliflower bed,
+    The yellow flowers stain'd with red.
+      _Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée._
+
+
+
+
+SHAMEFUL DEATH
+
+
+    There were four of us about that bed;
+      The mass-priest knelt at the side,
+    I and his mother stood at the head,
+      Over his feet lay the bride;
+    We were quite sure that he was dead,
+      Though his eyes were open wide.
+
+    He did not die in the night,
+      He did not die in the day,
+    But in the morning twilight
+      His spirit pass'd away,
+    When neither sun nor moon was bright,
+      And the trees were merely grey.
+
+    He was not slain with the sword,
+      Knight's axe, or the knightly spear,
+    Yet spoke he never a word
+      After he came in here;
+    I cut away the cord
+      From the neck of my brother dear.
+
+    He did not strike one blow,
+      For the recreants came behind,
+    In a place where the hornbeams grow,
+      A path right hard to find,
+    For the hornbeam boughs swing so,
+      That the twilight makes it blind.
+
+    They lighted a great torch then,
+      When his arms were pinion'd fast,
+    Sir John the knight of the Fen,
+      Sir Guy of the Dolorous Blast,
+    With knights threescore and ten,
+      Hung brave Lord Hugh at last.
+
+    I am threescore and ten,
+      And my hair is all turn'd grey,
+    But I met Sir John of the Fen
+      Long ago on a summer day,
+    And am glad to think of the moment when
+      I took his life away.
+
+    I am threescore and ten,
+      And my strength is mostly pass'd,
+    But long ago I and my men,
+      When the sky was overcast,
+    And the smoke roll'd over the reeds of the fen,
+      Slew Guy of the Dolorous Blast.
+
+    And now, knights all of you,
+      I pray you pray for Sir Hugh,
+    A good knight and a true,
+      And for Alice, his wife, pray too.
+
+
+
+
+THE EVE OF CRECY
+
+
+    Gold on her head, and gold on her feet,
+    And gold where the hems of her kirtle meet,
+    And a golden girdle round my sweet;
+        _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._
+
+    Margaret's maids are fair to see,
+    Freshly dress'd and pleasantly;
+    Margaret's hair falls down to her knee;
+        _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._
+
+    If I were rich I would kiss her feet;
+    I would kiss the place where the gold hems meet,
+    And the golden girdle round my sweet:
+        _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._
+
+    Ah me! I have never touch'd her hand;
+    When the arriere-ban goes through the land,
+    Six basnets under my pennon stand;
+        _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._
+
+    And many an one grins under his hood:
+    Sir Lambert du Bois, with all his men good,
+    Has neither food nor firewood;
+        _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._
+
+    If I were rich I would kiss her feet,
+    And the golden girdle of my sweet,
+    And thereabouts where the gold hems meet;
+        _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._
+
+    Yet even now it is good to think,
+    While my few poor varlets grumble and drink
+    In my desolate hall, where the fires sink,
+        _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._
+
+    Of Margaret sitting glorious there,
+    In glory of gold and glory of hair,
+    And glory of glorious face most fair;
+        _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._
+
+    Likewise to-night I make good cheer,
+    Because this battle draweth near:
+    For what have I to lose or fear?
+        _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._
+
+    For, look you, my horse is good to prance
+    A right fair measure in this war-dance,
+    Before the eyes of Philip of France;
+        _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._
+
+    And sometime it may hap, perdie,
+    While my new towers stand up three and three,
+    And my hall gets painted fair to see,
+        _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._
+
+    That folks may say: Times change, by the rood,
+    For Lambert, banneret of the wood,
+    Has heaps of food and firewood;
+        _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite;_
+
+    And wonderful eyes, too, under the hood
+    Of a damsel of right noble blood.
+    St. Ives, for Lambert of the Wood!
+        _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._
+
+
+
+
+THE JUDGMENT OF GOD
+
+
+    Swerve to the left, son Roger, he said,
+      When you catch his eyes through the helmet-slit,
+    Swerve to the left, then out at his head,
+      And the Lord God give you joy of it!
+
+    The blue owls on my father's hood
+      Were a little dimm'd as I turn'd away;
+    This giving up of blood for blood
+      Will finish here somehow to-day.
+
+    So, when I walk'd out from the tent,
+      Their howling almost blinded me;
+    Yet for all that I was not bent
+      By any shame. Hard by, the sea
+
+    Made a noise like the aspens where
+      We did that wrong, but now the place
+    Is very pleasant, and the air
+      Blows cool on any passer's face.
+
+    And all the wrong is gather'd now
+      Into the circle of these lists:
+    Yea, howl out, butchers! tell me how
+      His hands were cut off at the wrists;
+
+    And how Lord Roger bore his face
+      A league above his spear-point, high
+    Above the owls, to that strong place
+      Among the waters; yea, yea, cry:
+
+    What a brave champion we have got!
+      Sir Oliver, the flower of all
+    The Hainault knights! The day being hot,
+      He sat beneath a broad white pall,
+
+    White linen over all his steel;
+      What a good knight he look'd! his sword
+    Laid thwart his knees; he liked to feel
+      Its steadfast edge clear as his word.
+
+    And he look'd solemn; how his love
+      Smiled whitely on him, sick with fear!
+    How all the ladies up above
+      Twisted their pretty hands! so near
+
+    The fighting was: Ellayne! Ellayne!
+      They cannot love like you can, who
+    Would burn your hands off, if that pain
+      Could win a kiss; am I not true
+
+    To you for ever? therefore I
+      Do not fear death or anything;
+    If I should limp home wounded, why,
+      While I lay sick you would but sing,
+
+    And soothe me into quiet sleep.
+      If they spat on the recreant knight,
+    Threw stones at him, and cursed him deep,
+      Why then: what then? your hand would light
+
+    So gently on his drawn-up face,
+      And you would kiss him, and in soft
+    Cool scented clothes would lap him, pace
+      The quiet room and weep oft, oft
+
+    Would turn and smile, and brush his cheek
+      With your sweet chin and mouth; and in
+    The order'd garden you would seek
+      The biggest roses: any sin.
+
+    And these say: No more now my knight,
+      Or God's knight any longer: you,
+    Being than they so much more white,
+      So much more pure and good and true,
+
+    Will cling to me for ever; there,
+      Is not that wrong turn'd right at last
+    Through all these years, and I wash'd clean?
+      Say, yea, Ellayne; the time is past,
+
+    Since on that Christmas-day last year
+      Up to your feet the fire crept,
+    And the smoke through the brown leaves sere
+      Blinded your dear eyes that you wept;
+
+    Was it not I that caught you then,
+      And kiss'd you on the saddle-bow?
+    Did not the blue owl mark the men
+      Whose spears stood like the corn a-row?
+
+    This Oliver is a right good knight,
+      And must needs beat me, as I fear,
+    Unless I catch him in the fight,
+      My father's crafty way: John, here!
+
+    Bring up the men from the south gate,
+      To help me if I fall or win,
+    For even if I beat, their hate
+      Will grow to more than this mere grin.
+
+
+
+
+THE LITTLE TOWER
+
+
+    Up and away through the drifting rain!
+    Let us ride to the Little Tower again,
+
+    Up and away from the council board!
+    Do on the hauberk, gird on the sword.
+
+    The king is blind with gnashing his teeth,
+    Change gilded scabbard to leather sheath:
+
+    Though our arms are wet with the slanting rain,
+    This is joy to ride to my love again:
+
+    I laugh in his face when he bids me yield;
+    Who knows one field from the other field,
+
+    For the grey rain driveth all astray?
+    Which way through the floods, good carle, I pray
+
+    The left side yet! the left side yet!
+    Till your hand strikes on the bridge parapet.
+
+    Yea so: the causeway holdeth good
+    Under the water? Hard as wood,
+
+    Right away to the uplands; speed, good knight!
+    Seven hours yet before the light.
+
+    Shake the wet off on the upland road;
+    My tabard has grown a heavy load.
+
+    What matter? up and down hill after hill;
+    Dead grey night for five hours still.
+
+    The hill-road droppeth lower again,
+    Lower, down to the poplar plain.
+
+    No furlong farther for us to-night,
+    The Little Tower draweth in sight;
+
+    They are ringing the bells, and the torches glare,
+    Therefore the roofs of wet slate stare.
+
+    There she stands, and her yellow hair slantingly
+    Drifts the same way that the rain goes by.
+
+    Who will be faithful to us to-day,
+    With little but hard glaive-strokes for pay?
+
+    The grim king fumes at the council-board:
+    Three more days, and then the sword;
+
+    Three more days, and my sword through his head;
+    And above his white brows, pale and dead,
+
+    A paper crown on the top of the spire;
+    And for her the stake and the witches' fire.
+
+    Therefore though it be long ere day,
+    Take axe and pick and spade, I pray.
+
+    Break the dams down all over the plain:
+    God send us three more days such rain!
+
+    Block all the upland roads with trees;
+    The Little Tower with no great ease
+
+    Is won, I warrant; bid them bring
+    Much sheep and oxen, everything
+
+    The spits are wont to turn with; wine
+    And wheaten bread, that we may dine
+
+    In plenty each day of the siege.
+    Good friends, ye know me no hard liege;
+
+    My lady is right fair, see ye!
+    Pray God to keep you frank and free.
+
+    Love Isabeau, keep goodly cheer;
+    The Little Tower will stand well here
+
+    Many a year when we are dead,
+    And over it our green and red,
+
+    Barred with the Lady's golden head,
+    From mere old age when we are dead.
+
+
+
+
+THE SAILING OF THE SWORD
+
+
+    Across the empty garden-beds,
+      _When the Sword went out to sea,_
+    I scarcely saw my sisters' heads
+      Bowed each beside a tree.
+    I could not see the castle leads,
+      _When the Sword went out to sea,_
+
+    Alicia wore a scarlet gown,
+      _When the Sword went out to sea,_
+    But Ursula's was russet brown:
+      For the mist we could not see
+    The scarlet roofs of the good town,
+      _When the Sword went out to sea._
+
+    Green holly in Alicia's hand,
+      _When the Sword went out to sea;_
+    With sere oak-leaves did Ursula stand;
+      O! yet alas for me!
+    I did but bear a peel'd white wand,
+      _When the Sword went out to sea._
+
+    O, russet brown and scarlet bright,
+      _When the Sword went out to sea,_
+    My sisters wore; I wore but white:
+      Red, brown, and white, are three;
+    Three damozels; each had a knight,
+      _When the Sword went out to sea._
+
+    Sir Robert shouted loud, and said:
+      _When the Sword went out to sea,_
+    Alicia, while I see thy head,
+      What shall I bring for thee?
+    O, my sweet Lord, a ruby red:
+      _The Sword went out to sea._
+
+    Sir Miles said, while the sails hung down,
+      _When the Sword went out to sea,_
+    O, Ursula! while I see the town,
+      What shall I bring for thee?
+    Dear knight, bring back a falcon brown:
+      _The Sword went out to sea._
+
+    But my Roland, no word he said
+      _When the Sword went out to sea,_
+    But only turn'd away his head;
+      A quick shriek came from me:
+    Come back, dear lord, to your white maid.
+      _The Sword went out to sea._
+
+    The hot sun bit the garden-beds
+      _When the Sword came back from sea;_
+    Beneath an apple-tree our heads
+      Stretched out toward the sea;
+    Grey gleam'd the thirsty castle-leads,
+      _When the Sword came back from sea._
+
+    Lord Robert brought a ruby red,
+      _When the Sword came back from sea;_
+    He kissed Alicia on the head:
+      I am come back to thee;
+    'Tis time, sweet love, that we were wed,
+      _Now the Sword is back from sea!_
+
+    Sir Miles he bore a falcon brown,
+      _When the Sword came back from sea;_
+    His arms went round tall Ursula's gown:
+      What joy, O love, but thee?
+    Let us be wed in the good town,
+      _Now the Sword is back from sea!_
+
+    My heart grew sick, no more afraid,
+      _When the Sword came back from sea;_
+    Upon the deck a tall white maid
+      Sat on Lord Roland's knee;
+    His chin was press'd upon her head,
+      _When the Sword came back from sea!_
+
+
+
+
+SPELL-BOUND
+
+
+    How weary is it none can tell,
+      How dismally the days go by!
+    I hear the tinkling of the bell,
+      I see the cross against the sky.
+
+    The year wears round to Autumn-tide,
+      Yet comes no reaper to the corn;
+    The golden land is like a bride
+      When first she knows herself forlorn;
+
+    She sits and weeps with all her hair
+      Laid downward over tender hands;
+    For stainèd silk she hath no care,
+      No care for broken ivory wands;
+
+    The silver cups beside her stand;
+      The golden stars on the blue roof
+    Yet glitter, though against her hand
+      His cold sword presses for a proof
+
+    He is not dead, but gone away.
+      How many hours did she wait
+    For me, I wonder? Till the day
+      Had faded wholly, and the gate
+
+    Clanged to behind returning knights?
+      I wonder did she raise her head
+    And go away, fleeing the lights;
+      And lay the samite on her bed,
+
+    The wedding samite strewn with pearls:
+      Then sit with hands laid on her knees,
+    Shuddering at half-heard sound of girls
+      That chatter outside in the breeze?
+
+    I wonder did her poor heart throb
+      At distant tramp of coming knight?
+    How often did the choking sob
+      Raise up her head and lips? The light,
+
+    Did it come on her unawares,
+      And drag her sternly down before
+    People who loved her not? in prayers
+      Did she say one name and no more?
+
+    And once, all songs they ever sung,
+      All tales they ever told to me,
+    This only burden through them rung:
+      _O golden love that waitest me!_
+
+    _The days pass on, pass on apace,
+      Sometimes I have a little rest
+    In fairest dreams, when on thy face
+      My lips lie, or thy hands are prest_
+
+    _About my forehead, and thy lips
+      Draw near and nearer to mine own;
+    But when the vision from me slips,
+      In colourless dawn I lie and moan,_
+
+    _And wander forth with fever'd blood,
+      That makes me start at little things,
+    The blackbird screaming from the wood,
+      The sudden whirr of pheasants' wings._
+
+    _O dearest, scarcely seen by me!_
+      But when that wild time had gone by,
+    And in these arms I folded thee,
+      Who ever thought those days could die?
+
+    Yet now I wait, and you wait too,
+      For what perchance may never come;
+    You think I have forgotten you,
+      That I grew tired and went home.
+
+    But what if some day as I stood
+      Against the wall with strainèd hands,
+    And turn'd my face toward the wood,
+      Away from all the golden lands;
+
+    And saw you come with tired feet,
+      And pale face thin and wan with care,
+    And stainèd raiment no more neat,
+      The white dust lying on your hair:
+
+    Then I should say, I could not come;
+      This land was my wide prison, dear;
+    I could not choose but go; at home
+      There is a wizard whom I fear:
+
+    He bound me round with silken chains
+      I could not break; he set me here
+    Above the golden-waving plains,
+      Where never reaper cometh near.
+
+    And you have brought me my good sword,
+      Wherewith in happy days of old
+    I won you well from knight and lord;
+      My heart upswells and I grow bold.
+
+    But I shall die unless you stand,
+      Half lying now, you are so weak,
+    Within my arms, unless your hand
+      Pass to and fro across my cheek.
+
+
+
+
+THE WIND
+
+
+    Ah! no, no, it is nothing, surely nothing at all,
+    Only the wild-going wind round by the garden-wall,
+    For the dawn just now is breaking, the wind beginning to fall.
+
+        _Wind, wind! thou art sad, art thou kind?
+        Wind, wind, unhappy! thou art blind,
+        Yet still thou wanderest the lily-seed to find._
+
+    So I will sit, and think and think of the days gone by,
+    Never moving my chair for fear the dogs should cry,
+    Making no noise at all while the flambeau burns awry.
+
+    For my chair is heavy and carved, and with sweeping green behind
+    It is hung, and the dragons thereon grin out in the gusts of the wind;
+    On its folds an orange lies, with a deep gash cut in the rind.
+
+        _Wind, wind! thou art sad, art thou kind?
+        Wind, wind, unhappy! thou art blind,
+        still thou wanderest the lily-seed to find._
+
+    If I move my chair it will scream, and the orange will roll out afar,
+    And the faint yellow juice ooze out like blood from a wizard's jar;
+    And the dogs will howl for those who went last month to the war.
+
+        _Wind, wind! thou art sad, art thou kind?
+        Wind, wind, unhappy! thou art blind,
+        Yet still thou wanderest the lily-seed to find._
+
+    So I will sit and think of love that is over and past,
+    O, so long ago! Yes, I will be quiet at last:
+    Whether I like it or not, a grim half-slumber is cast
+
+    Over my worn old brains, that touches the roots of my heart,
+    And above my half-shut eyes, the blue roof 'gins to part,
+    And show the blue spring sky, till I am ready to start
+
+    From out of the green-hung chair; but something keeps me still,
+    And I fall in a dream that I walk'd with her on the side of a hill,
+    Dotted, for was it not spring? with tufts of the daffodil.
+
+        _Wind, wind! thou art sad, art thou kind?
+        Wind, wind, unhappy! thou art blind,
+        Yet still thou wanderest the lily-seed to find._
+
+    And Margaret as she walk'd held a painted book in her hand;
+    Her finger kept the place; I caught her, we both did stand
+    Face to face, on the top of the highest hill in the land.
+
+        _Wind, wind! thou art sad, art thou kind?
+        Wind, wind, unhappy! thou art blind,
+        Yet still thou wanderest the lily-seed to find._
+
+    I held to her long bare arms, but she shudder'd away from me,
+    While the flush went out of her face as her head fell back on a tree,
+    And a spasm caught her mouth, fearful for me to see;
+
+    And still I held to her arms till her shoulder touched my mail,
+    Weeping she totter'd forward, so glad that I should prevail,
+    And her hair went over my robe, like a gold flag over a sail.
+
+        _Wind, wind! thou art sad, art thou kind?
+        Wind, wind, unhappy! thou art blind,
+        Yet still thou wanderest the lily-seed to find._
+
+    I kiss'd her hard by the ear, and she kiss'd me on the brow,
+    And then lay down on the grass, where the mark on the moss is now,
+    And spread her arms out wide while I went down below.
+
+        _Wind, wind! thou art sad, art thou kind?
+        Wind, wind, unhappy! thou art blind,
+        Yet still thou wanderest the lily-seed to find._
+
+    And then I walk'd for a space to and fro on the side of the hill,
+    Till I gather'd and held in my arms great sheaves of the daffodil,
+    And when I came again my Margaret lay there still.
+
+    I piled them high and high above her heaving breast,
+    How they were caught and held in her loose ungirded vest!
+    But one beneath her arm died, happy so to be prest!
+
+        _Wind, wind! thou art sad, art thou kind?
+        Wind, wind, unhappy! thou art blind,
+        Yet still thou wanderest the lily-seed to find._
+
+    Again I turn'd my back and went away for an hour;
+    She said no word when I came again, so, flower by flower,
+    I counted the daffodils over, and cast them languidly lower.
+
+        _Wind, wind! thou art sad, art thou kind?
+        Wind, wind, unhappy! thou art blind,
+        Yet still thou wanderest the lily-seed to find._
+
+    My dry hands shook and shook as the green gown show'd again,
+    Clear'd from the yellow flowers, and I grew hollow with pain,
+    And on to us both there fell from the sun-shower drops of rain.
+
+        _Wind, wind! thou art sad, art thou kind?
+        Wind, wind, unhappy! thou art blind,
+        Yet still thou wanderest the lily-seed to find._
+
+    Alas! alas! there was blood on the very quiet breast,
+    Blood lay in the many folds of the loose ungirded vest,
+    Blood lay upon her arm where the flower had been prest.
+
+    I shriek'd and leapt from my chair, and the orange roll'd out afar,
+    The faint yellow juice oozed out like blood from a wizard's jar;
+    And then in march'd the ghosts of those that had gone to the war.
+
+    I knew them by the arms that I was used to paint
+    Upon their long thin shields; but the colours were all grown faint,
+    And faint upon their banner was Olaf, king and saint.
+
+        _Wind, wind! thou art sad, art thou kind?
+        Wind, wind, unhappy! thou art blind,
+        Yet still thou wanderest the lily-seed to find._
+
+
+
+
+THE BLUE CLOSET
+
+
+              THE DAMOZELS.
+
+        Lady Alice, lady Louise,
+        Between the wash of the tumbling seas
+        We are ready to sing, if so ye please;
+        So lay your long hands on the keys;
+                      Sing, _Laudate pueri_.
+
+      _And ever the great bell overhead
+      Boom'd in the wind a knell for the dead,
+      Though no one toll'd it, a knell for the dead._
+
+              LADY LOUISE.
+
+      Sister, let the measure swell
+      Not too loud; for you sing not well
+      If you drown the faint boom of the bell;
+                      He is weary, so am I.
+
+      _And ever the chevron overhead
+      Flapped on the banner of the dead;
+      (Was he asleep, or was he dead?)_
+
+              LADY ALICE.
+
+      Alice the Queen, and Louise the Queen,
+      Two damozels wearing purple and green,
+      Four lone ladies dwelling here
+      From day to day and year to year;
+      And there is none to let us go;
+      To break the locks of the doors below,
+      Or shovel away the heaped-up snow;
+      And when we die no man will know
+      That we are dead; but they give us leave,
+      Once every year on Christmas-eve,
+      To sing in the Closet Blue one song;
+      And we should be so long, so long,
+      If we dared, in singing; for dream on dream,
+      They float on in a happy stream;
+      Float from the gold strings, float from the keys,
+      Float from the open'd lips of Louise;
+      But, alas! the sea-salt oozes through
+      The chinks of the tiles of the Closet Blue;
+      _And ever the great bell overhead
+      Booms in the wind a knell for the dead,
+      The wind plays on it a knell for the dead._
+
+              _They sing all together._
+
+    How long ago was it, how long ago,
+    He came to this tower with hands full of snow?
+
+    Kneel down, O love Louise, kneel down! he said,
+    And sprinkled the dusty snow over my head.
+
+    He watch'd the snow melting, it ran through my hair,
+    Ran over my shoulders, white shoulders and bare.
+
+    I cannot weep for thee, poor love Louise,
+    For my tears are all hidden deep under the seas;
+
+    In a gold and blue casket she keeps all my tears,
+    But my eyes are no longer blue, as in old years;
+
+    Yea, they grow grey with time, grow small and dry,
+    I am so feeble now, would I might die.
+
+      _And in truth the great bell overhead
+      Left off his pealing for the dead,
+      Perchance, because the wind was dead._
+
+    Will he come back again, or is he dead?
+    O! is he sleeping, my scarf round his head?
+
+    Or did they strangle him as he lay there,
+    With the long scarlet scarf I used to wear?
+
+    Only I pray thee, Lord, let him come here!
+    Both his soul and his body to me are most dear.
+
+    Dear Lord, that loves me, I wait to receive
+    Either body or spirit this wild Christmas-eve.
+
+      _Through the floor shot up a lily red,
+      With a patch of earth from the land of the dead,
+      For he was strong in the land of the dead._
+
+        What matter that his cheeks were pale,
+          His kind kiss'd lips all grey?
+        O, love Louise, have you waited long?
+          O, my lord Arthur, yea.
+
+        What if his hair that brush'd her cheek
+          Was stiff with frozen rime?
+        His eyes were grown quite blue again,
+          As in the happy time.
+
+        O, love Louise, this is the key
+          Of the happy golden land!
+        O, sisters, cross the bridge with me,
+          My eyes are full of sand.
+        What matter that I cannot see,
+          If ye take me by the hand?
+
+      _And ever the great bell overhead,
+      And the tumbling seas mourned for the dead;
+      For their song ceased, and they were dead._
+
+
+
+
+THE TUNE OF SEVEN TOWERS
+
+
+      No one goes there now:
+        For what is left to fetch away
+      From the desolate battlements all arow,
+        And the lead roof heavy and grey?
+    _Therefore, said fair Yoland of the flowers,
+    This is the tune of Seven Towers._
+
+      No one walks there now;
+        Except in the white moonlight
+      The white ghosts walk in a row;
+        If one could see it, an awful sight,
+    _Listen! said fair Yoland of the flowers,
+    This is the tune of Seven Towers._
+
+      But none can see them now,
+        Though they sit by the side of the moat,
+      Feet half in the water, there in a row,
+        Long hair in the wind afloat.
+    _Therefore, said fair Yoland of the flowers,
+    This is the tune of Seven Towers._
+
+      If any will go to it now,
+        He must go to it all alone,
+      Its gates will not open to any row
+        Of glittering spears: will _you_ go alone?
+    _Listen! said fair Yoland of the flowers,
+    This is the tune of Seven Towers._
+
+      By my love go there now,
+        To fetch me my coif away,
+      My coif and my kirtle, with pearls arow,
+        Oliver, go to-day!
+    _Therefore, said fair Yoland of the flowers,
+    This is the tune of Seven Towers._
+
+      I am unhappy now,
+        I cannot tell you why;
+      If you go, the priests and I in a row
+        Will pray that you may not die.
+    _Listen! said fair Yoland of the flowers,
+    This is the tune of Seven Towers._
+
+      If you will go for me now,
+        I will kiss your mouth at last;
+               [_She sayeth inwardly._]
+      (_The graves stand grey in a row._)
+        Oliver, hold me fast!
+    _Therefore, said fair Yoland of the flowers,
+    This is the tune of Seven Towers._
+
+
+
+
+GOLDEN WINGS
+
+
+    Midways of a wallèd garden,
+      In the happy poplar land,
+      Did an ancient castle stand,
+    With an old knight for a warden.
+
+    Many scarlet bricks there were
+      In its walls, and old grey stone;
+      Over which red apples shone
+    At the right time of the year.
+
+    On the bricks the green moss grew.
+      Yellow lichen on the stone,
+      Over which red apples shone;
+    Little war that castle knew.
+
+    Deep green water fill'd the moat,
+      Each side had a red-brick lip,
+      Green and mossy with the drip
+    Of dew and rain; there was a boat
+
+    Of carven wood, with hangings green
+      About the stern; it was great bliss
+      For lovers to sit there and kiss
+    In the hot summer noons, not seen.
+
+    Across the moat the fresh west wind
+      In very little ripples went;
+      The way the heavy aspens bent
+    Towards it, was a thing to mind.
+
+    The painted drawbridge over it
+      Went up and down with gilded chains,
+      'Twas pleasant in the summer rains
+    Within the bridge-house there to sit.
+
+    There were five swans that ne'er did eat
+      The water-weeds, for ladies came
+      Each day, and young knights did the same,
+    And gave them cakes and bread for meat.
+
+    They had a house of painted wood,
+      A red roof gold-spiked over it,
+      Wherein upon their eggs to sit
+    Week after week; no drop of blood,
+
+    Drawn from men's bodies by sword-blows,
+      Came ever there, or any tear;
+      Most certainly from year to year
+    'Twas pleasant as a Provence rose.
+
+    The banners seem'd quite full of ease,
+      That over the turret-roofs hung down;
+      The battlements could get no frown
+    From the flower-moulded cornices.
+
+    Who walked in that garden there?
+      Miles and Giles and Isabeau,
+      Tall Jehane du Castel beau,
+    Alice of the golden hair,
+
+    Big Sir Gervaise, the good knight,
+      Fair Ellayne le Violet,
+      Mary, Constance fille de fay,
+    Many dames with footfall light.
+
+    Whosoever wander'd there,
+      Whether it be dame or knight,
+      Half of scarlet, half of white
+    Their raiment was; of roses fair
+
+    Each wore a garland on the head,
+      At Ladies' Gard the way was so:
+      Fair Jehane du Castel beau
+    Wore her wreath till it was dead.
+
+    Little joy she had of it,
+      Of the raiment white and red,
+      Or the garland on her head,
+    She had none with whom to sit
+
+    In the carven boat at noon;
+      None the more did Jehane weep,
+      She would only stand and keep
+    Saying: He will be here soon!
+
+    Many times in the long day
+      Miles and Giles and Gervaise passed,
+      Holding each some white hand fast,
+    Every time they heard her say:
+
+    Summer cometh to an end,
+      Undern cometh after noon;
+      Golden wings will be here soon,
+    What if I some token send?
+
+    Wherefore that night within the hall,
+      With open mouth and open eyes,
+      Like some one listening with surprise,
+    She sat before the sight of all.
+
+    Stoop'd down a little she sat there,
+      With neck stretch'd out and chin thrown up,
+      One hand around a golden cup;
+    And strangely with her fingers fair
+
+    She beat some tune upon the gold;
+      The minstrels in the gallery
+      Sung: Arthur, who will never die,
+    In Avallon he groweth old.
+
+    And when the song was ended, she
+      Rose and caught up her gown and ran;
+      None stopp'd her eager face and wan
+    Of all that pleasant company.
+
+    Right so within her own chamber
+      Upon her bed she sat; and drew
+      Her breath in quick gasps; till she knew
+    That no man follow'd after her.
+
+    She took the garland from her head,
+      Loosed all her hair, and let it lie
+      Upon the coverlet; thereby
+    She laid the gown of white and red;
+
+    And she took off her scarlet shoon,
+      And bared her feet; still more and more
+      Her sweet face redden'd; evermore
+    She murmur'd: He will be here soon;
+
+    Truly he cannot fail to know
+      My tender body waits him here;
+      And if he knows, I have no fear
+    For poor Jehane du Castel beau.
+
+    She took a sword within her hand,
+      Whose hilts were silver, and she sung
+      Somehow like this, wild words that rung
+    A long way over the moonlit land:
+
+      Gold wings across the sea!
+      Grey light from tree to tree,
+      Gold hair beside my knee,
+      I pray thee come to me,
+      Gold wings!
+
+                  The water slips,
+        The red-bill'd moorhen dips.
+      Sweet kisses on red lips;
+      Alas! the red rust grips,
+      And the blood-red dagger rips,
+      Yet, O knight, come to me!
+
+      Are not my blue eyes sweet?
+      The west wind from the wheat
+      Blows cold across my feet;
+      Is it not time to meet
+      Gold wings across the sea?
+
+      White swans on the green moat,
+      Small feathers left afloat
+      By the blue-painted boat;
+      Swift running of the stoat,
+      Sweet gurgling note by note
+      Of sweet music.
+
+                      O gold wings,
+      Listen how gold hair sings,
+      And the Ladies Castle rings,
+      Gold wings across the sea.
+
+      I sit on a purple bed,
+      Outside, the wall is red,
+      Thereby the apple hangs,
+      And the wasp, caught by the fangs,
+
+      Dies in the autumn night,
+      And the bat flits till light,
+      And the love-crazèd knight
+
+      Kisses the long wet grass:
+      The weary days pass,
+      Gold wings across the sea.
+
+      Gold wings across the sea!
+      Moonlight from tree to tree,
+      Sweet hair laid on my knee,
+      O, sweet knight, come to me.
+
+      Gold wings, the short night slips,
+      The white swan's long neck drips,
+      I pray thee kiss my lips,
+      Gold wings across the sea!
+
+    No answer through the moonlit night;
+      No answer in the cold grey dawn;
+      No answer when the shaven lawn
+    Grew green, and all the roses bright.
+
+    Her tired feet look'd cold and thin,
+      Her lips were twitch'd, and wretched tears,
+      Some, as she lay, roll'd past her ears,
+    Some fell from off her quivering chin.
+
+    Her long throat, stretched to its full length,
+      Rose up and fell right brokenly;
+      As though the unhappy heart was nigh
+    Striving to break with all its strength.
+
+    And when she slipp'd from off the bed,
+      Her cramp'd feet would not hold her; she
+      Sank down and crept on hand and knee,
+    On the window-sill she laid her head.
+
+    There, with crooked arm upon the sill,
+      She look'd out, muttering dismally:
+      There is no sail upon the sea,
+    No pennon on the empty hill.
+
+    I cannot stay here all alone,
+      Or meet their happy faces here,
+      And wretchedly I have no fear;
+    A little while, and I am gone.
+
+    Therewith she rose upon her feet,
+      And totter'd; cold and misery
+      Still made the deep sobs come, till she
+    At last stretch'd out her fingers sweet,
+
+    And caught the great sword in her hand;
+      And, stealing down the silent stair,
+      Barefooted in the morning air.
+    And only in her smock, did stand
+
+    Upright upon the green lawn grass;
+      And hope grew in her as she said:
+      I have thrown off the white and red,
+    And pray God it may come to pass
+
+    I meet him; if ten years go by
+      Before I meet him; if, indeed,
+      Meanwhile both soul and body bleed,
+    Yet there is end of misery,
+
+    And I have hope. He could not come,
+      But I can go to him and show
+      These new things I have got to know,
+    And make him speak, who has been dumb.
+
+    O Jehane! the red morning sun
+      Changed her white feet to glowing gold,
+      Upon her smock, on crease and fold,
+    Changed that to gold which had been dun.
+
+    O Miles, and Giles, and Isabeau,
+      Fair Ellayne le Violet,
+      Mary, Constance fille de fay!
+    Where is Jehane du Castel beau?
+
+    O big Gervaise ride apace!
+      Down to the hard yellow sand,
+      Where the water meets the land.
+    This is Jehane by her face.
+
+    Why has she a broken sword?
+      Mary! she is slain outright;
+      Verily a piteous sight;
+    Take her up without a word!
+
+    Giles and Miles and Gervaise there,
+      Ladies' Gard must meet the war;
+      Whatsoever knights these are,
+    Man the walls withouten fear!
+
+    Axes to the apple-trees,
+      Axes to the aspens tall!
+      Barriers without the wall
+    May be lightly made of these.
+
+    O poor shivering Isabeau;
+      Poor Ellayne le Violet,
+      Bent with fear! we miss to-day
+    Brave Jehane du Castel beau.
+
+    O poor Mary, weeping so!
+      Wretched Constance fille de fay!
+      Verily we miss to-day
+    Fair Jehane du Castel beau.
+
+    The apples now grow green and sour
+      Upon the mouldering castle-wall,
+      Before they ripen there they fall:
+    There are no banners on the tower,
+
+    The draggled swans most eagerly eat
+      The green weeds trailing in the moat;
+      Inside the rotting leaky boat
+    You see a slain man's stiffen'd feet.
+
+
+
+
+THE HAYSTACK IN THE FLOODS
+
+
+    Had she come all the way for this,
+    To part at last without a kiss?
+    Yea, had she borne the dirt and rain
+    That her own eyes might see him slain
+    Beside the haystack in the floods?
+
+    Along the dripping leafless woods,
+    The stirrup touching either shoe,
+    She rode astride as troopers do;
+    With kirtle kilted to her knee,
+    To which the mud splash'd wretchedly;
+    And the wet dripp'd from every tree
+    Upon her head and heavy hair,
+    And on her eyelids broad and fair;
+    The tears and rain ran down her face.
+    By fits and starts they rode apace,
+    And very often was his place
+    Far off from her; he had to ride
+    Ahead, to see what might betide
+    When the roads cross'd; and sometimes, when
+    There rose a murmuring from his men,
+    Had to turn back with promises.
+    Ah me! she had but little ease;
+    And often for pure doubt and dread
+    She sobb'd, made giddy in the head
+    By the swift riding; while, for cold,
+    Her slender fingers scarce could hold
+    The wet reins; yea, and scarcely, too,
+    She felt the foot within her shoe
+    Against the stirrup: all for this,
+    To part at last without a kiss
+    Beside the haystack in the floods.
+
+    For when they near'd that old soak'd hay,
+    They saw across the only way
+    That Judas, Godmar, and the three
+    Red running lions dismally
+    Grinn'd from his pennon, under which
+    In one straight line along the ditch,
+    They counted thirty heads.
+
+                                So then,
+    While Robert turn'd round to his men,
+    She saw at once the wretched end,
+    And, stooping down, tried hard to rend
+    Her coif the wrong way from her head,
+    And hid her eyes; while Robert said:
+    Nay, love, 'tis scarcely two to one,
+    At Poictiers where we made them run
+    So fast: why, sweet my love, good cheer,
+    The Gascon frontier is so near,
+    Nought after this.
+
+                        But: O! she said,
+    My God! my God! I have to tread
+    The long way back without you; then
+    The court at Paris; those six men;
+    The gratings of the Chatelet;
+    The swift Seine on some rainy day
+    Like this, and people standing by,
+    And laughing, while my weak hands try
+    To recollect how strong men swim.
+    All this, or else a life with him,
+    For which I should be damned at last,
+    Would God that this next hour were past!
+
+    He answer'd not, but cried his cry,
+    St. George for Marny! cheerily;
+    And laid his hand upon her rein.
+    Alas! no man of all his train
+    Gave back that cheery cry again;
+    And, while for rage his thumb beat fast
+    Upon his sword-hilt, some one cast
+    About his neck a kerchief long,
+    And bound him.
+
+                    Then they went along
+    To Godmar; who said: Now, Jehane,
+    Your lover's life is on the wane
+    So fast, that, if this very hour
+    You yield not as my paramour,
+    He will not see the rain leave off:
+    Nay, keep your tongue from gibe and scoff
+    Sir Robert, or I slay you now.
+
+    She laid her hand upon her brow,
+    Then gazed upon the palm, as though
+    She thought her forehead bled, and: No!
+    She said, and turn'd her head away,
+    As there were nothing else to say,
+    And everything were settled: red
+    Grew Godmar's face from chin to head:
+    Jehane, on yonder hill there stands
+    My castle, guarding well my lands;
+    What hinders me from taking you,
+    And doing that I list to do
+    To your fair wilful body, while
+    Your knight lies dead?
+
+                            A wicked smile
+    Wrinkled her face, her lips grew thin,
+    A long way out she thrust her chin:
+    You know that I should strangle you
+    While you were sleeping; or bite through
+    Your throat, by God's help: ah! she said,
+    Lord Jesus, pity your poor maid!
+    For in such wise they hem me in,
+    I cannot choose but sin and sin,
+    Whatever happens: yet I think
+    They could not make me eat or drink,
+    And so should I just reach my rest.
+    Nay, if you do not my behest,
+    O Jehane! though I love you well,
+    Said Godmar, would I fail to tell
+    All that I know? Foul lies, she said.
+    Eh? lies, my Jehane? by God's head,
+    At Paris folks would deem them true!
+    Do you know, Jehane, they cry for you:
+    Jehane the brown! Jehane the brown!
+    Give us Jehane to burn or drown!
+    Eh! gag me Robert! Sweet my friend,
+    This were indeed a piteous end
+    For those long fingers, and long feet,
+    And long neck, and smooth shoulders sweet;
+    An end that few men would forget
+    That saw it. So, an hour yet:
+    Consider, Jehane, which to take
+    Of life or death!
+
+                      So, scarce awake,
+    Dismounting, did she leave that place,
+    And totter some yards: with her face
+    Turn'd upward to the sky she lay,
+    Her head on a wet heap of hay,
+    And fell asleep: and while she slept,
+    And did not dream, the minutes crept
+    Round to the twelve again; but she,
+    Being waked at last, sigh'd quietly,
+    And strangely childlike came, and said:
+    I will not. Straightway Godmar's head,
+    As though it hung on strong wires, turn'd
+    Most sharply round, and his face burn'd.
+
+    For Robert, both his eyes were dry,
+    He could not weep, but gloomily
+    He seem'd to watch the rain; yea, too,
+    His lips were firm; he tried once more
+    To touch her lips; she reached out, sore
+    And vain desire so tortured them,
+    The poor grey lips, and now the hem
+    Of his sleeve brush'd them.
+
+                                With a start
+    Up Godmar rose, thrust them apart;
+    From Robert's throat he loosed the bands
+    Of silk and mail; with empty hands
+    Held out, she stood and gazed, and saw,
+    The long bright blade without a flaw
+    Glide out from Godmar's sheath, his hand
+    In Robert's hair; she saw him bend
+    Back Robert's head; she saw him send
+    The thin steel down; the blow told well,
+    Right backward the knight Robert fell,
+    And moaned as dogs do, being half dead,
+    Unwitting, as I deem: so then
+    Godmar turn'd grinning to his men,
+    Who ran, some five or six, and beat
+    His head to pieces at their feet.
+
+    Then Godmar turn'd again and said:
+    So, Jehane, the first fitte is read!
+    Take note, my lady, that your way
+    Lies backward to the Chatelet!
+    She shook her head and gazed awhile
+    At her cold hands with a rueful smile,
+    As though this thing had made her mad.
+
+    This was the parting that they had
+    Beside the haystack in the floods.
+
+
+
+
+TWO RED ROSES ACROSS THE MOON
+
+
+    There was a lady lived in a hall,
+    Large of her eyes, and slim and tall;
+    And ever she sung from noon to noon,
+    _Two red roses across the moon._
+
+    There was a knight came riding by
+    In early spring, when the roads were dry;
+    And he heard that lady sing at the noon,
+    _Two red roses across the moon._
+
+    Yet none the more he stopp'd at all,
+    But he rode a-gallop past the hall;
+    And left that lady singing at noon,
+    _Two red roses across the moon._
+
+    Because, forsooth, the battle was set,
+    And the scarlet and blue had got to be met,
+    He rode on the spur till the next warm noon:
+    _Two red roses across the moon._
+
+    But the battle was scatter'd from hill to hill,
+    From the windmill to the watermill;
+    And he said to himself, as it near'd the noon,
+    _Two red roses across the moon._
+
+    You scarce could see for the scarlet and blue,
+    A golden helm or a golden shoe:
+    So he cried, as the fight grew thick at the noon,
+    _Two red roses across the moon!_
+
+    Verily then the gold bore through
+    The huddled spears of the scarlet and blue;
+    And they cried, as they cut them down at the noon,
+    _Two red roses across the moon!_
+
+    I trow he stopp'd when he rode again
+    By the hall, though draggled sore with the rain;
+    And his lips were pinch'd to kiss at the noon
+    _Two red roses across the moon._
+
+    Under the may she stoop'd to the crown,
+    All was gold, there was nothing of brown;
+    And the horns blew up in the hall at noon,
+    _Two red roses across the moon._
+
+
+
+
+WELLAND RIVER
+
+
+    Fair Ellayne she walk'd by Welland river,
+      Across the lily lee:
+    O, gentle Sir Robert, ye are not kind
+      To stay so long at sea.
+
+    Over the marshland none can see
+      Your scarlet pennon fair;
+    O, leave the Easterlings alone,
+      Because of my golden hair.
+
+    The day when over Stamford bridge
+      That dear pennon I see
+    Go up toward the goodly street,
+      'Twill be a fair day for me.
+
+    O, let the bonny pennon bide
+      At Stamford, the good town,
+    And let the Easterlings go free,
+      And their ships go up and down.
+
+    For every day that passes by
+      I wax both pale and green,
+    From gold to gold of my girdle
+      There is an inch between.
+
+    I sew'd it up with scarlet silk
+      Last night upon my knee,
+    And my heart grew sad and sore to think
+      Thy face I'd never see.
+
+    I sew'd it up with scarlet silk,
+      As I lay upon my bed:
+    Sorrow! the man I'll never see
+      That had my maidenhead.
+
+    But as Ellayne sat on her window-seat
+      And comb'd her yellow hair,
+    She saw come over Stamford bridge
+      The scarlet pennon fair.
+
+    As Ellayne lay and sicken'd sore,
+      The gold shoes on her feet,
+    She saw Sir Robert and his men
+      Ride up the Stamford street.
+
+    He had a coat of fine red gold,
+      And a bascinet of steel;
+    Take note his goodly Collayne sword
+      Smote the spur upon his heel.
+
+    And by his side, on a grey jennet,
+      There rode a fair lady,
+    For every ruby Ellayne wore,
+      I count she carried three.
+
+    Say, was not Ellayne's gold hair fine,
+      That fell to her middle free?
+    But that lady's hair down in the street,
+      Fell lower than her knee.
+
+    Fair Ellayne's face, from sorrow and grief,
+      Was waxen pale and green:
+    That lady's face was goodly red,
+      She had but little tene.
+
+    But as he pass'd by her window
+      He grew a little wroth:
+    O, why does yon pale face look at me
+      From out the golden cloth?
+
+    It is some burd, the fair dame said,
+      That aye rode him beside,
+    Has come to see your bonny face
+      This merry summer-tide.
+
+    But Ellayne let a lily-flower
+      Light on his cap of steel:
+    O, I have gotten two hounds, fair knight,
+      The one has served me well;
+
+    But the other, just an hour agone,
+      Has come from over sea,
+    And all his fell is sleek and fine,
+      But little he knows of me.
+
+    Now, which shall I let go, fair knight,
+      And which shall bide with me?
+    O, lady, have no doubt to keep
+      The one that best loveth thee.
+
+    O, Robert, see how sick I am!
+      Ye do not so by me.
+    Lie still, fair love, have ye gotten harm
+      While I was on the sea?
+
+    Of one gift, Robert, that ye gave,
+      I sicken to the death,
+    I pray you nurse-tend me, my knight,
+      Whiles that I have my breath.
+
+    Six fathoms from the Stamford bridge
+      He left that dame to stand,
+    And whiles she wept, and whiles she cursed
+      That she ever had taken land.
+
+    He has kiss'd sweet Ellayne on the mouth,
+      And fair she fell asleep,
+    And long and long days after that
+      Sir Robert's house she did keep.
+
+
+
+
+RIDING TOGETHER
+
+
+    For many, many days together
+      The wind blew steady from the East;
+    For many days hot grew the weather,
+      About the time of our Lady's Feast.
+
+    For many days we rode together,
+      Yet met we neither friend nor foe;
+    Hotter and clearer grew the weather,
+      Steadily did the East wind blow.
+
+    We saw the trees in the hot, bright weather,
+      Clear-cut, with shadows very black,
+    As freely we rode on together
+      With helms unlaced and bridles slack.
+
+    And often as we rode together,
+      We, looking down the green-bank'd stream,
+    Saw flowers in the sunny weather,
+      And saw the bubble-making bream.
+
+    And in the night lay down together,
+      And hung above our heads the rood,
+    Or watch'd night-long in the dewy weather,
+      The while the moon did watch the wood.
+
+    Our spears stood bright and thick together,
+      Straight out the banners stream'd behind,
+    As we gallop'd on in the sunny weather,
+      With faces turn'd towards the wind.
+
+    Down sank our threescore spears together,
+      As thick we saw the pagans ride;
+    His eager face in the clear fresh weather,
+      Shone out that last time by my side.
+
+    Up the sweep of the bridge we dash'd together,
+      It rock'd to the crash of the meeting spears,
+    Down rain'd the buds of the dear spring weather,
+      The elm-tree flowers fell like tears.
+
+    There, as we roll'd and writhed together,
+      I threw my arms above my head,
+    For close by my side, in the lovely weather,
+      I saw him reel and fall back dead.
+
+    I and the slayer met together,
+      He waited the death-stroke there in his place,
+    With thoughts of death, in the lovely weather,
+      Gapingly mazed at my madden'd face.
+
+    Madly I fought as we fought together;
+      In vain: the little Christian band
+    The pagans drown'd, as in stormy weather,
+      The river drowns low-lying land.
+
+    They bound my blood-stain'd hands together,
+      They bound his corpse to nod by my side:
+    Then on we rode, in the bright March weather,
+      With clash of cymbals did we ride.
+
+    We ride no more, no more together;
+      My prison-bars are thick and strong,
+    I take no heed of any weather,
+      The sweet Saints grant I live not long.
+
+
+
+
+FATHER JOHN'S WAR-SONG
+
+
+              THE REAPERS.
+
+    So many reapers, Father John,
+    So many reapers and no little son,
+    To meet you when the day is done,
+    With little stiff legs to waddle and run?
+    Pray you beg, borrow, or steal one son.
+    Hurrah for the corn-sheaves of Father John!
+
+              FATHER JOHN.
+
+    O maiden Mary, be wary, be wary!
+    And go not down to the river,
+    Lest the kingfisher, your evil wisher,
+    Lure you down to the river,
+    Lest your white feet grow muddy,
+    Your red hair too ruddy
+    With the river-mud so red;
+    But when you are wed
+    Go down to the river.
+    O maiden Mary, be very wary,
+    And dwell among the corn!
+    See, this dame Alice, maiden Mary,
+    Her hair is thin and white,
+    But she is a housewife good and wary,
+    And a great steel key hangs bright
+    From her gown, as red as the flowers in corn;
+    She is good and old like the autumn corn.
+
+              MAIDEN MARY.
+
+    This is knight Roland, Father John,
+    Stark in his arms from a field half-won;
+    Ask him if he has seen your son:
+    Roland, lay your sword on the corn,
+    The piled-up sheaves of the golden corn.
+
+              KNIGHT ROLAND.
+
+    Why does she kiss me, Father John?
+    She is my true love truly won!
+    Under my helm is room for one,
+    But the molten lead-streams trickle and run
+    From my roof-tree, burning under the sun;
+    No corn to burn, we had eaten the corn,
+    There was no waste of the golden corn.
+
+              FATHER JOHN.
+
+    Ho, you reapers, away from the corn,
+    To march with the banner of Father John!
+
+              THE REAPERS.
+
+    We will win a house for Roland his son,
+    And for maiden Mary with hair like corn,
+    As red as the reddest of golden corn.
+
+              OMNES.
+
+    Father John, you have got a son,
+    Seven feet high when his helm is on
+    Pennon of Roland, banner of John,
+    Star of Mary, march well on.
+
+
+
+
+SIR GILES' WAR-SONG
+
+
+      _Ho! is there any will ride with me,
+          Sir Giles, le bon des barrières?_
+
+    The clink of arms is good to hear,
+    The flap of pennons fair to see;
+      _Ho! is there any will ride with me,
+          Sir Giles, le bon des barrières?_
+
+    The leopards and lilies are fair to see;
+    St. George Guienne! right good to hear:
+      _Ho! is there any will ride with me,
+          Sir Giles, le bon des barrières?_
+
+    I stood by the barrier,
+    My coat being blazon'd fair to see;
+      _Ho! is there any will ride with me,
+          Sir Giles, le bon des barrières?_
+
+    Clisson put out his head to see,
+    And lifted his basnet up to hear;
+      I pull'd him through the bars to ME,
+          _Sir Giles; le bon des barrières._
+
+
+
+
+NEAR AVALON
+
+
+    A ship with shields before the sun,
+    Six maidens round the mast,
+    A red-gold crown on every one,
+    A green gown on the last.
+
+    The fluttering green banners there
+    Are wrought with ladies' heads most fair,
+    And a portraiture of Guenevere
+    The middle of each sail doth bear.
+
+    A ship which sails before the wind,
+    And round the helm six knights,
+    Their heaumes are on, whereby, half blind,
+    They pass by many sights.
+
+    The tatter'd scarlet banners there,
+    Right soon will leave the spear-heads bare.
+    Those six knights sorrowfully bear,
+    In all their heaumes some yellow hair.
+
+
+
+
+PRAISE OF MY LADY
+
+
+    My lady seems of ivory
+    Forehead, straight nose, and cheeks that be
+    Hollow'd a little mournfully.
+                  _Beata mea Domina!_
+
+    Her forehead, overshadow'd much
+    By bows of hair, has a wave such
+    As God was good to make for me.
+                  _Beata mea Domina!_
+
+    Not greatly long my lady's hair,
+    Nor yet with yellow colour fair,
+    But thick and crispèd wonderfully:
+                  _Beata mea Domina!_
+
+    Heavy to make the pale face sad,
+    And dark, but dead as though it had
+    Been forged by God most wonderfully
+                  _Beata mea Domina!_
+
+    Of some strange metal, thread by thread,
+    To stand out from my lady's head,
+    Not moving much to tangle me.
+                  _Beata mea Domina!_
+
+    Beneath her brows the lids fall slow.
+    The lashes a clear shadow throw
+    Where I would wish my lips to be.
+                  _Beata mea Domina!_
+
+    Her great eyes, standing far apart,
+    Draw up some memory from her heart,
+    And gaze out very mournfully;
+                  _Beata mea Domina!_
+
+    So beautiful and kind they are,
+    But most times looking out afar,
+    Waiting for something, not for me.
+                  _Beata mea Domina!_
+
+    I wonder if the lashes long
+    Are those that do her bright eyes wrong,
+    For always half tears seem to be
+                  _Beata mea Domina!_
+
+    Lurking below the underlid,
+    Darkening the place where they lie hid:
+    If they should rise and flow for me!
+                  _Beata mea Domina!_
+
+    Her full lips being made to kiss,
+    Curl'd up and pensive each one is;
+    This makes me faint to stand and see.
+                  _Beata mea Domina!_
+
+    Her lips are not contented now,
+    Because the hours pass so slow
+    Towards a sweet time: (pray for me),
+                  _Beata mea Domina!_
+
+    Nay, hold thy peace! for who can tell?
+    But this at least I know full well,
+    Her lips are parted longingly,
+                  _Beata mea Domina!_
+
+    So passionate and swift to move,
+    To pluck at any flying love,
+    That I grow faint to stand and see.
+                  _Beata mea Domina_!
+
+    Yea! there beneath them is her chin,
+    So fine and round, it were a sin
+    To feel no weaker when I see
+                  _Beata mea Domina_!
+
+    God's dealings; for with so much care
+    And troublous, faint lines wrought in there,
+    He finishes her face for me.
+                  _Beata mea Domina_!
+
+    Of her long neck what shall I say?
+    What things about her body's sway,
+    Like a knight's pennon or slim tree
+                  _Beata mea Domina_!
+
+    Set gently waving in the wind;
+    Or her long hands that I may find
+    On some day sweet to move o'er me?
+                  _Beata mea Domina!_
+
+    God pity me though, if I miss'd
+    The telling, how along her wrist
+    The veins creep, dying languidly
+                  _Beata mea Domina!_
+
+    Inside her tender palm and thin.
+    Now give me pardon, dear, wherein
+    My voice is weak and vexes thee.
+                  _Beata mea Domina!_
+
+    All men that see her any time,
+    I charge you straightly in this rhyme,
+    What, and wherever you may be,
+                  _Beata mea Domina!_
+
+    To kneel before her; as for me,
+    I choke and grow quite faint to see
+    My lady moving graciously.
+                  _Beata mea Domina!_
+
+
+
+
+SUMMER DAWN
+
+
+    Pray but one prayer for me 'twixt thy closed lips;
+      Think but one thought of me up in the stars.
+    The summer night waneth, the morning light slips,
+      Faint and grey 'twixt the leaves of the aspen, betwixt the
+                cloud-bars,
+    That are patiently waiting there for the dawn:
+      Patient and colourless, though Heaven's gold
+    Waits to float through them along with the sun.
+    Far out in the meadows, above the young corn,
+      The heavy elms wait, and restless and cold
+    The uneasy wind rises; the roses are dun;
+    They pray the long gloom through for daylight new born,
+    Round the lone house in the midst of the corn.
+      Speak but one word to me over the corn,
+      Over the tender, bow'd locks of the corn.
+
+
+
+
+IN PRISON
+
+
+    Wearily, drearily,
+    Half the day long,
+    Flap the great banners
+    High over the stone;
+    Strangely and eerily
+    Sounds the wind's song,
+    Bending the banner-poles.
+
+    While, all alone,
+    Watching the loophole's spark,
+    Lie I, with life all dark,
+    Feet tether'd, hands fetter'd
+    Fast to the stone,
+    The grim walls, square letter'd
+    With prison'd men's groan.
+
+    Still strain the banner-poles
+    Through the wind's song,
+    Westward the banner rolls
+    Over my wrong.
+
+
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+ Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.
+ Edinburgh & London
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Note
+
+    Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without
+    note, whilst archaic spellings have been retained.
+
+    Many single- and double-quotation marks were omitted in the original
+    publication. Logical corrections, made from this text alone, would
+    only compound any discrepancies and therefore such punctuation
+    remains as printed.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Defence of Guenevere and Other
+Poems, by William Morris
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DEFENCE OF GUENEVERE ***
+
+***** This file should be named 22650-8.txt or 22650-8.zip *****
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+        https://www.gutenberg.org/2/2/6/5/22650/
+
+Produced by Thierry Alberto, Stephen Blundell and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
+will be renamed.
+
+Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
+one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
+(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
+permission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+https://gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
+paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.  See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
+or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+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.org
+
+1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
+form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
+     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
+     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
+     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+     License.  You must require such a user to return or
+     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+     Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+     of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org.
+
+
+Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
+https://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at https://pglaf.org
+
+For additional contact information:
+     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+     Chief Executive and Director
+     gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+
+Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit https://pglaf.org
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including including checks, online payments and credit card
+donations.  To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate
+
+
+Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+     https://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
diff --git a/22650-8.zip b/22650-8.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3939074
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-8.zip
diff --git a/22650-h.zip b/22650-h.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..05bde19
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-h.zip
diff --git a/22650-h/22650-h.htm b/22650-h/22650-h.htm
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2f1f1b9
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-h/22650-h.htm
@@ -0,0 +1,6383 @@
+<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN"
+    "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd">
+
+<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml">
+  <head>
+    <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" />
+    <title>
+      The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems, by William Morris
+    </title>
+    <style type="text/css">
+/*<![CDATA[  XML blockout */
+<!--
+    p {  margin-top: .75em;
+         text-align: justify;
+         margin-bottom: .75em;}
+
+    h1 {text-align: center;
+        margin-bottom: 1em;
+        clear: both;}
+
+    h2 {text-align: center;
+        margin-bottom: 2em;
+        clear: both;}
+
+    hr { width: 33%;
+         margin-top: 2em;
+         margin-bottom: 2em;
+         margin-left: auto;
+         margin-right: auto;
+         clear: both;}
+
+    table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 50%;}
+    .td1  {text-align: left; font-style: italic;}
+    .td2  {text-align: right;}
+
+    body{margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;}
+
+    .pagenum  {position: absolute;
+               left: 92%;
+               font-size: smaller;
+               font-style: normal;
+               text-align: right;}
+
+    .blockquot   {margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;}
+    .blockquot p {padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
+
+    .smcap    {font-variant: small-caps; font-style: normal;}
+    .rgt      {position: absolute; left: 70%; text-align: right;}
+
+    .poem             {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;}
+    .poem br          {display: none;}
+    .poem .stanza     {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;}
+    .poem span.i0     {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
+    .poem span.iw0    {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em;
+                       font-variant: small-caps; text-indent: -3em;}
+    .poem span.i2     {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
+    .poem span.i4     {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
+
+    .trans1     {border: solid 1px; margin: 3em 15%; padding: .25em 1em; text-align: justify;}
+
+    a:link    {text-decoration:none;}
+    a:visited {text-decoration:none;}
+
+    .poem span.id0     {display: block; margin-left: 0em;}
+    .poem span.id2     {display: block; margin-left: 2em;}
+    .poem span.id4     {display: block; margin-left: 4em;}
+    .dcap    {float: left; clear: left;
+              margin: 0 0.1em 0 0;
+              padding:0;
+              line-height: .8em; font-size: 2.5em;}
+
+    .theend {margin-bottom: 4em; margin-top: 4em; text-align: center; font-weight: bold;}
+
+    .poem span.i10     {display: block; margin-left: 10em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
+    .poem span.i12     {display: block; margin-left: 12em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
+    .poem span.i14     {display: block; margin-left: 14em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
+    .poem span.i16     {display: block; margin-left: 16em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
+    .poem span.i18     {display: block; margin-left: 18em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
+    .poem span.i6     {display: block; margin-left: 6em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
+    .poem span.i8     {display: block; margin-left: 8em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
+
+    .head1 {text-align: center; font-variant: small-caps;}
+    .head3 {text-align: center; font-variant: small-caps; margin-top: 3em; margin-bottom: 6em;}
+    .head5 {margin-left: 10em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
+    .head6 {text-align: center; text-indent: -4em;}
+    .head7 {margin-left: 8em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
+    .head8 {margin-left: 6em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
+
+
+    .cpoem30    {width: 31em; margin: 0 auto;}
+    .cpoem35    {width: 36em; margin: 0 auto;}
+    .cpoem25    {width: 26em; margin: 0 auto;}
+    .cpoem22    {width: 23em; margin: 0 auto;}
+    .cpoem20    {width: 21em; margin: 0 auto;}
+    .cpoem15    {width: 16em; margin: 0 auto;}
+    .cpoem27    {width: 28em; margin: 0 auto;}
+    .center     {text-align: center;}
+    // -->
+    /* XML end  ]]>*/
+    </style>
+  </head>
+<body>
+
+
+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of 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.org
+
+
+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 https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+<h1><small><small>THE</small></small><br /><br />
+
+DEFENCE OF GUENEVERE<br /><br />
+
+<small>AND OTHER POEMS</small></h1>
+
+<p class="center"><b>BY</b></p>
+
+<h2>WILLIAM MORRIS</h2>
+
+<p class="head3">Reprinted from the Kelmscott Press Edition<br />
+as revised by the Author</p>
+
+
+<p class="head1">LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.<br />
+<small>39 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON<br />
+NEW YORK, BOMBAY, AND CALCUTTA<br />
+1908</small></p>
+<p class="center"><small>All rights reserved</small></p>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<div class="cpoem25">
+<i>First Edition, <span class="smcap">Bell &amp; Daldy</span>, 1858<br />
+Reprinted, 1875, for <span class="smcap">Ellis &amp; White</span>, and<br />
+Subsequently for <span class="smcap">Reeves &amp; Turner</span><br />
+Kelmscott Press Edition (revised by the Author), 1892<br />
+Transferred to <span class="smcap">Longmans, Green, &amp; Co.</span>, 1896<br />
+New Edition corrected by Kelmscott Press Edition, May 1900<br />
+Reprinted January 1908</i>
+</div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CONTENTS</h2>
+
+<div class='center'>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="">
+<tr><td class="td2" colspan="2"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td1">The Defence of Guenevere</td><td class="td2"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td1">King Arthur's Tomb</td><td class="td2"><a href="#Page_19">19</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td1">Sir Galahad, a Christmas Mystery</td><td class="td2"><a href="#Page_43">43</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td1">The Chapel in Lyoness</td><td class="td2"><a href="#Page_57">57</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td1">Sir Peter Harpdon's End</td><td class="td2"><a href="#Page_65">65</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td1">Rapunzel</td><td class="td2"><a href="#Page_111">111</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td1">Concerning Geffray Teste Noire</td><td class="td2"><a href="#Page_135">135</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td1">A Good Knight in Prison</td><td class="td2"><a href="#Page_148">148</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td1">Old Love</td><td class="td2"><a href="#Page_155">155</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td1">The Gilliflower of Gold</td><td class="td2"><a href="#Page_159">159</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td1">Shameful Death</td><td class="td2"><a href="#Page_163">163</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td1">The Eve of Crecy</td><td class="td2"><a href="#Page_166">166</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td1">The Judgment of God</td><td class="td2"><a href="#Page_169">169</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td1">The Little Tower</td><td class="td2"><a href="#Page_174">174</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td1">The Sailing of the Sword</td><td class="td2"><a href="#Page_178">178</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td1">Spell-Bound</td><td class="td2"><a href="#Page_182">182</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td1">The Wind</td><td class="td2"><a href="#Page_187">187</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td1">The Blue Closet</td><td class="td2"><a href="#Page_194">194</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td1">The Tune of Seven Towers</td><td class="td2"><a href="#Page_199">199</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td1">Golden Wings</td><td class="td2"><a href="#Page_202">202</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td1">The Haystack in the Floods</td><td class="td2"><a href="#Page_215">215</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td1">Two Red Roses across the Moon</td><td class="td2"><a href="#Page_223">223</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td1">Welland River</td><td class="td2"><a href="#Page_226">226</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td1">Riding Together</td><td class="td2"><a href="#Page_231">231</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td1">Father John's War-Song</td><td class="td2"><a href="#Page_234">234</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td1">Sir Giles' War-Song</td><td class="td2"><a href="#Page_237">237</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td1">Near Avalon</td><td class="td2"><a href="#Page_239">239</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td1">Praise of My Lady</td><td class="td2"><a href="#Page_241">241</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td1">Summer Dawn</td><td class="td2"><a href="#Page_246">246</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td1">In Prison</td><td class="td2"><a href="#Page_247">247</a></td></tr>
+</table></div>
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="THE_DEFENCE_OF_GUENEVERE" id="THE_DEFENCE_OF_GUENEVERE"></a>THE DEFENCE OF GUENEVERE</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem27"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="id0"><span class="dcap">B</span>UT, knowing now that they would have her speak,<br /></span>
+<span class="id0">She threw her wet hair backward from her brow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her hand close to her mouth touching her cheek,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">As though she had had there a shameful blow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And feeling it shameful to feel ought but shame<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All through her heart, yet felt her cheek burned so,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She must a little touch it; like one lame<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She walked away from Gauwaine, with her head<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Still lifted up; and on her cheek of flame<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The tears dried quick; she stopped at last and said:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O knights and lords, it seems but little skill<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To talk of well-known things past now and dead.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">God wot I ought to say, I have done ill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And pray you all forgiveness heartily!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Because you must be right, such great lords; still<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Listen, suppose your time were come to die,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And you were quite alone and very weak;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yea, laid a dying while very mightily<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The wind was ruffling up the narrow streak<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of river through your broad lands running well:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Suppose a hush should come, then some one speak:<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">'One of these cloths is heaven, and one is hell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now choose one cloth for ever; which they be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I will not tell you, you must somehow tell<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Of your own strength and mightiness; here, see!'<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yea, yea, my lord, and you to ope your eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At foot of your familiar bed to see<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A great God's angel standing, with such dyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not known on earth, on his great wings, and hands,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Held out two ways, light from the inner skies<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Showing him well, and making his commands<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Seem to be God's commands, moreover, too,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Holding within his hands the cloths on wands;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And one of these strange choosing cloths was blue,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wavy and long, and one cut short and red;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No man could tell the better of the two.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">After a shivering half-hour you said:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'God help! heaven's colour, the blue;' and he said, 'hell.'<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Perhaps you then would roll upon your bed,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And cry to all good men that loved you well,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Ah Christ! if only I had known, known, known;'<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Launcelot went away, then I could tell,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Like wisest man how all things would be, moan,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And roll and hurt myself, and long to die,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And yet fear much to die for what was sown.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Nevertheless you, O Sir Gauwaine, lie,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whatever may have happened through these years,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">God knows I speak truth, saying that you lie.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Her voice was low at first, being full of tears,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But as it cleared, it grew full loud and shrill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Growing a windy shriek in all men's ears,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A ringing in their startled brains, until<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She said that Gauwaine lied, then her voice sunk,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And her great eyes began again to fill,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Though still she stood right up, and never shrunk,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But spoke on bravely, glorious lady fair!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whatever tears her full lips may have drunk,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She stood, and seemed to think, and wrung her hair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Spoke out at last with no more trace of shame,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With passionate twisting of her body there:<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">It chanced upon a day that Launcelot came<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To dwell at Arthur's court: at Christmas-time<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This happened; when the heralds sung his name,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Son of King Ban of Benwick, seemed to chime<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Along with all the bells that rang that day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O'er the white roofs, with little change of rhyme.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Christmas and whitened winter passed away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And over me the April sunshine came,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Made very awful with black hail-clouds, yea<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And in the Summer I grew white with flame,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And bowed my head down: Autumn, and the sick<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sure knowledge things would never be the same,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">However often Spring might be most thick<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of blossoms and buds, smote on me, and I grew<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Careless of most things, let the clock tick, tick,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">To my unhappy pulse, that beat right through<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My eager body; while I laughed out loud,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And let my lips curl up at false or true,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Seemed cold and shallow without any cloud.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Behold my judges, then the cloths were brought;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While I was dizzied thus, old thoughts would crowd,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Belonging to the time ere I was bought<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By Arthur's great name and his little love;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Must I give up for ever then, I thought,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">That which I deemed would ever round me move<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Glorifying all things; for a little word,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Scarce ever meant at all, must I now prove<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Stone-cold for ever? Pray you, does the Lord<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Will that all folks should be quite happy and good?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I love God now a little, if this cord<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Were broken, once for all what striving could<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Make me love anything in earth or heaven?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So day by day it grew, as if one should<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Slip slowly down some path worn smooth and even,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Down to a cool sea on a summer day;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet still in slipping there was some small leaven<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Of stretched hands catching small stones by the way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Until one surely reached the sea at last,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And felt strange new joy as the worn head lay<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Back, with the hair like sea-weed; yea all past<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sweat of the forehead, dryness of the lips,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Washed utterly out by the dear waves o'ercast,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In the lone sea, far off from any ships!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Do I not know now of a day in Spring?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No minute of that wild day ever slips<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">From out my memory; I hear thrushes sing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And wheresoever I may be, straightway<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thoughts of it all come up with most fresh sting:<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I was half mad with beauty on that day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And went without my ladies all alone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In a quiet garden walled round every way;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I was right joyful of that wall of stone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That shut the flowers and trees up with the sky,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And trebled all the beauty: to the bone,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yea right through to my heart, grown very shy<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With weary thoughts, it pierced, and made me glad;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Exceedingly glad, and I knew verily,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A little thing just then had made me mad;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I dared not think, as I was wont to do,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sometimes, upon my beauty; If I had<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Held out my long hand up against the blue,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, looking on the tenderly darken'd fingers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thought that by rights one ought to see quite through,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There, see you, where the soft still light yet lingers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Round by the edges; what should I have done,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If this had joined with yellow spotted singers,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And startling green drawn upward by the sun?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But shouting, loosed out, see now! all my hair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And trancedly stood watching the west wind run<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">With faintest half-heard breathing sound; why there<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I lose my head e'en now in doing this;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But shortly listen: In that garden fair<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Came Launcelot walking; this is true, the kiss<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wherewith we kissed in meeting that spring day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I scarce dare talk of the remember'd bliss,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When both our mouths went wandering in one way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And aching sorely, met among the leaves;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our hands being left behind strained far away.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Never within a yard of my bright sleeves<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had Launcelot come before: and now, so nigh!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">After that day why is it Guenevere grieves?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Nevertheless you, O Sir Gauwaine, lie,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whatever happened on through all those years,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">God knows I speak truth, saying that you lie.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Being such a lady could I weep these tears<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If this were true? A great queen such as I<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Having sinn'd this way, straight her conscience sears;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And afterwards she liveth hatefully,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Slaying and poisoning, certes never weeps:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Gauwaine be friends now, speak me lovingly.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Do I not see how God's dear pity creeps<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All through your frame, and trembles in your mouth?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Remember in what grave your mother sleeps,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Buried in some place far down in the south,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Men are forgetting as I speak to you;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By her head sever'd in that awful drouth<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Of pity that drew Agravaine's fell blow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I pray your pity! let me not scream out<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For ever after, when the shrill winds blow<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Through half your castle-locks! let me not shout<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For ever after in the winter night<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When you ride out alone! in battle-rout<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Let not my rusting tears make your sword light!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ah! God of mercy, how he turns away!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So, ever must I dress me to the fight,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So: let God's justice work! Gauwaine, I say,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">See me hew down your proofs: yea all men know<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Even as you said how Mellyagraunce one day,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">One bitter day in <i>la Fausse Garde</i>, for so<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All good knights held it after, saw:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yea, sirs, by cursed unknightly outrage; though<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">You, Gauwaine, held his word without a flaw,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This Mellyagraunce saw blood upon my bed:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose blood then pray you? is there any law<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">To make a queen say why some spots of red<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lie on her coverlet? or will you say:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your hands are white, lady, as when you wed,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Where did you bleed? and must I stammer out, Nay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I blush indeed, fair lord, only to rend<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My sleeve up to my shoulder, where there lay<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A knife-point last night: so must I defend<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The honour of the Lady Guenevere?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not so, fair lords, even if the world should end<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">This very day, and you were judges here<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Instead of God. Did you see Mellyagraunce<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When Launcelot stood by him? what white fear<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Curdled his blood, and how his teeth did dance,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His side sink in? as my knight cried and said:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Slayer of unarm'd men, here is a chance!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Setter of traps, I pray you guard your head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By God I am so glad to fight with you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stripper of ladies, that my hand feels lead<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For driving weight; hurrah now! draw and do,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For all my wounds are moving in my breast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I am getting mad with waiting so.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He struck his hands together o'er the beast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who fell down flat, and grovell'd at his feet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And groan'd at being slain so young: At least,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">My knight said, rise you, sir, who are so fleet<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At catching ladies, half-arm'd will I fight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My left side all uncovered! then I weet,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Up sprang Sir Mellyagraunce with great delight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon his knave's face; not until just then<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Did I quite hate him, as I saw my knight<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Along the lists look to my stake and pen<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With such a joyous smile, it made me sigh<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From agony beneath my waist-chain, when<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The fight began, and to me they drew nigh;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ever Sir Launcelot kept him on the right,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And traversed warily, and ever high<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And fast leapt caitiff's sword, until my knight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sudden threw up his sword to his left hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Caught it, and swung it; that was all the fight,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Except a spout of blood on the hot land;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For it was hottest summer; and I know<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I wonder'd how the fire, while I should stand,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And burn, against the heat, would quiver so,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yards above my head; thus these matters went;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which things were only warnings of the woe<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">That fell on me. Yet Mellyagraunce was shent,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For Mellyagraunce had fought against the Lord;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Therefore, my lords, take heed lest you be blent<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">With all this wickedness; say no rash word<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Against me, being so beautiful; my eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wept all away to grey, may bring some sword<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">To drown you in your blood; see my breast rise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like waves of purple sea, as here I stand;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And how my arms are moved in wonderful wise,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yea also at my full heart's strong command,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">See through my long throat how the words go up<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In ripples to my mouth; how in my hand<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The shadow lies like wine within a cup<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of marvellously colour'd gold; yea now<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This little wind is rising, look you up,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And wonder how the light is falling so<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Within my moving tresses: will you dare,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When you have looked a little on my brow,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">To say this thing is vile? or will you care<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For any plausible lies of cunning woof,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When you can see my face with no lie there<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For ever? am I not a gracious proof:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But in your chamber Launcelot was found:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is there a good knight then would stand aloof,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When a queen says with gentle queenly sound:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O true as steel come now and talk with me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I love to see your step upon the ground<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Unwavering, also well I love to see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That gracious smile light up your face, and hear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your wonderful words, that all mean verily<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The thing they seem to mean: good friend, so dear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To me in everything, come here to-night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or else the hours will pass most dull and drear;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If you come not, I fear this time I might<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Get thinking over much of times gone by,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When I was young, and green hope was in sight:<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For no man cares now to know why I sigh;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And no man comes to sing me pleasant songs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor any brings me the sweet flowers that lie<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So thick in the gardens; therefore one so longs<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To see you, Launcelot; that we may be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like children once again, free from all wrongs<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Just for one night. Did he not come to me?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What thing could keep true Launcelot away<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If I said, Come? there was one less than three<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In my quiet room that night, and we were gay;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till sudden I rose up, weak, pale, and sick,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Because a bawling broke our dream up, yea<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I looked at Launcelot's face and could not speak,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For he looked helpless too, for a little while;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then I remember how I tried to shriek,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And could not, but fell down; from tile to tile<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The stones they threw up rattled o'er my head<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And made me dizzier; till within a while<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">My maids were all about me, and my head<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On Launcelot's breast was being soothed away<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From its white chattering, until Launcelot said:<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">By God! I will not tell you more to-day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Judge any way you will: what matters it?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You know quite well the story of that fray,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">How Launcelot still'd their bawling, the mad fit<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That caught up Gauwaine: all, all, verily,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But just that which would save me; these things flit.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Nevertheless you, O Sir Gauwaine, lie,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whatever may have happen'd these long years,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">God knows I speak truth, saying that you lie!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">All I have said is truth, by Christ's dear tears.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She would not speak another word, but stood<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Turn'd sideways; listening, like a man who hears<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">His brother's trumpet sounding through the wood<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of his foes' lances. She lean'd eagerly,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And gave a slight spring sometimes, as she could<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">At last hear something really; joyfully<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her cheek grew crimson, as the headlong speed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of the roan charger drew all men to see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The knight who came was Launcelot at good need.<br /></span>
+</div></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><big>KING ARTHUR'S TOMB</big></h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span></p>
+<h2>KING ARTHUR'S TOMB</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem30"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="id0"><span class="dcap">H</span>OT August noon: already on that day<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Since sunrise through the Wiltshire downs, most sad<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of mouth and eye, he had gone leagues of way;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Ay and by night, till whether good or bad<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He was, he knew not, though he knew perchance<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That he was Launcelot, the bravest knight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of all who since the world was, have borne lance,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or swung their swords in wrong cause or in right.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Nay, he knew nothing now, except that where<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The Glastonbury gilded towers shine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A lady dwelt, whose name was Guenevere;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">This he knew also; that some fingers twine,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Not only in a man's hair, even his heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">(Making him good or bad I mean,) but in his life,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Skies, earth, men's looks and deeds, all that has part,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Not being ourselves, in that half-sleep, half-strife,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">(Strange sleep, strange strife,) that men call living; so<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Was Launcelot most glad when the moon rose,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Because it brought new memories of her. "Lo,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Between the trees a large moon, the wind lows<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Not loud, but as a cow begins to low,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Wishing for strength to make the herdsman hear:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The ripe corn gathereth dew; yea, long ago,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In the old garden life, my Guenevere<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Loved to sit still among the flowers, till night<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Had quite come on, hair loosen'd, for she said,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Smiling like heaven, that its fairness might<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Draw up the wind sooner to cool her head.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Now while I ride how quick the moon gets small,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As it did then: I tell myself a tale<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">That will not last beyond the whitewashed wall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thoughts of some joust must help me through the vale,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Keep this till after: How Sir Gareth ran<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A good course that day under my Queen's eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And how she sway'd laughing at Dinadan.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">No. Back again, the other thoughts will rise,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And yet I think so fast 'twill end right soon:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Verily then I think, that Guenevere,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Made sad by dew and wind, and tree-barred moon,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Did love me more than ever, was more dear<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">To me than ever, she would let me lie<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And kiss her feet, or, if I sat behind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would drop her hand and arm most tenderly,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And touch my mouth. And she would let me wind<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Her hair around my neck, so that it fell<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Upon my red robe, strange in the twilight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With many unnamed colours, till the bell<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of her mouth on my cheek sent a delight<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Through all my ways of being; like the stroke<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Wherewith God threw all men upon the face<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When he took Enoch, and when Enoch woke<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With a changed body in the happy place.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Once, I remember, as I sat beside,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">She turn'd a little, and laid back her head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And slept upon my breast; I almost died<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In those night-watches with my love and dread.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There lily-like she bow'd her head and slept,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And I breathed low, and did not dare to move,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But sat and quiver'd inwardly, thoughts crept,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And frighten'd me with pulses of my Love.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The stars shone out above the doubtful green<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of her bodice, in the green sky overhead;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pale in the green sky were the stars I ween,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Because the moon shone like a star she shed<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When she dwelt up in heaven a while ago,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And ruled all things but God: the night went on,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The wind grew cold, and the white moon grew low,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">One hand had fallen down, and now lay on<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">My cold stiff palm; there were no colours then<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For near an hour, and I fell asleep<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In spite of all my striving, even when<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I held her whose name-letters make me leap.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I did not sleep long, feeling that in sleep<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I did some loved one wrong, so that the sun<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had only just arisen from the deep<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Still land of colours, when before me one<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Stood whom I knew, but scarcely dared to touch,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">She seemed to have changed so in the night;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Moreover she held scarlet lilies, such<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As Maiden Margaret bears upon the light<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Of the great church walls, natheless did I walk<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Through the fresh wet woods, and the wheat that morn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Touching her hair and hand and mouth, and talk<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of love we held, nigh hid among the corn.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Back to the palace, ere the sun grew high,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">We went, and in a cool green room all day<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">I gazed upon the arras giddily,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where the wind set the silken kings a-sway.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I could not hold her hand, or see her face;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For which may God forgive me! but I think,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Howsoever, that she was not in that place.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">These memories Launcelot was quick to drink;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And when these fell, some paces past the wall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">There rose yet others, but they wearied more,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And tasted not so sweet; they did not fall<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So soon, but vaguely wrenched his strained heart sore<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In shadowy slipping from his grasp: these gone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A longing followed; if he might but touch<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That Guenevere at once! Still night, the lone<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Grey horse's head before him vex'd him much,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In steady nodding over the grey road:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Still night, and night, and night, and emptied heart<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of any stories; what a dismal load<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Time grew at last, yea, when the night did part,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And let the sun flame over all, still there<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The horse's grey ears turn'd this way and that,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And still he watch'd them twitching in the glare<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of the morning sun, behind them still he sat,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Quite wearied out with all the wretched night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Until about the dustiest of the day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On the last down's brow he drew his rein in sight<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of the Glastonbury roofs that choke the way.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And he was now quite giddy as before,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When she slept by him, tired out, and her hair<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was mingled with the rushes on the floor,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And he, being tired too, was scarce aware<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Of her presence; yet as he sat and gazed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A shiver ran throughout him, and his breath<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Came slower, he seem'd suddenly amazed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As though he had not heard of Arthur's death.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">This for a moment only, presently<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He rode on giddy still, until he reach'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A place of apple-trees, by the thorn-tree<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Wherefrom St. Joseph in the days past preached.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Dazed there he laid his head upon a tomb,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Not knowing it was Arthur's, at which sight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">One of her maidens told her, 'He is come,'<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And she went forth to meet him; yet a blight<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Had settled on her, all her robes were black,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With a long white veil only; she went slow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As one walks to be slain, her eyes did lack<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Half her old glory, yea, alas! the glow<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Had left her face and hands; this was because<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As she lay last night on her purple bed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wishing for morning, grudging every pause<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of the palace clocks, until that Launcelot's head<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Should lie on her breast, with all her golden hair<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Each side: when suddenly the thing grew drear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In morning twilight, when the grey downs bare<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Grew into lumps of sin to Guenevere.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">At first she said no word, but lay quite still,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Only her mouth was open, and her eyes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Gazed wretchedly about from hill to hill;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As though she asked, not with so much surprise<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">As tired disgust, what made them stand up there<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So cold and grey. After, a spasm took<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her face, and all her frame, she caught her hair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">All her hair, in both hands, terribly she shook,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And rose till she was sitting in the bed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Set her teeth hard, and shut her eyes and seem'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As though she would have torn it from her head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Natheless she dropp'd it, lay down, as she deem'd<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">It matter'd not whatever she might do:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">O Lord Christ! pity on her ghastly face!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those dismal hours while the cloudless blue<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Drew the sun higher: He did give her grace;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Because at last she rose up from her bed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And put her raiment on, and knelt before<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The blessed rood, and with her dry lips said,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Muttering the words against the marble floor:<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">'Unless you pardon, what shall I do, Lord,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But go to hell? and there see day by day<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Foul deed on deed, hear foulest word on word,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For ever and ever, such as on the way<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">To Camelot I heard once from a churl,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That curled me up upon my jennet's neck<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With bitter shame; how then, Lord, should I curl<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For ages and for ages? dost thou reck<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">That I am beautiful, Lord, even as you<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And your dear mother? why did I forget<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You were so beautiful, and good, and true,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That you loved me so, Guenevere? O yet<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If even I go to hell, I cannot choose<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But love you, Christ, yea, though I cannot keep<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From loving Launcelot; O Christ! must I lose<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My own heart's love? see, though I cannot weep,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yet am I very sorry for my sin;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Moreover, Christ, I cannot bear that hell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I am most fain to love you, and to win<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A place in heaven some time: I cannot tell:<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Speak to me, Christ! I kiss, kiss, kiss your feet;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Ah! now I weep!' The maid said, 'By the tomb<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">He waiteth for you, lady,' coming fleet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Not knowing what woe filled up all the room.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So Guenevere rose and went to meet him there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He did not hear her coming, as he lay<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On Arthur's head, till some of her long hair<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Brush'd on the new-cut stone: 'Well done! to pray<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For Arthur, my dear Lord, the greatest king<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That ever lived.' 'Guenevere! Guenevere!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Do you not know me, are you gone mad? fling<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Your arms and hair about me, lest I fear<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">You are not Guenevere, but some other thing.'<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">'Pray you forgive me, fair lord Launcelot!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I am not mad, but I am sick; they cling,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">God's curses, unto such as I am; not<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ever again shall we twine arms and lips.'<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">'Yea, she is mad: thy heavy law, O Lord,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is very tight about her now, and grips<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Her poor heart, so that no right word<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Can reach her mouth; so, Lord, forgive her now,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That she not knowing what she does, being mad,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Kills me in this way; Guenevere, bend low<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And kiss me once! for God's love kiss me! sad<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Though your face is, you look much kinder now;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Yea once, once for the last time kiss me, lest I die.'<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Christ! my hot lips are very near his brow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Help me to save his soul! Yea, verily,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Across my husband's head, fair Launcelot!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Fair serpent mark'd with V upon the head!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This thing we did while yet he was alive,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Why not, O twisting knight, now he is dead?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yea, shake! shake now and shiver! if you can<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Remember anything for agony,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pray you remember how when the wind ran<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">One cool spring evening through fair aspen-tree,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And elm and oak about the palace there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The king came back from battle, and I stood<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To meet him, with my ladies, on the stair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My face made beautiful with my young blood.'<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">'Will she lie now, Lord God?' 'Remember too,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Wrung heart, how first before the knights there came<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A royal bier, hung round with green and blue,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">About it shone great tapers with sick flame.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And thereupon Lucius, the Emperor,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Lay royal-robed, but stone-cold now and dead,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not able to hold sword or sceptre more,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But not quite grim; because his cloven head<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Bore no marks now of Launcelot's bitter sword,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Being by embalmers deftly solder'd up;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So still it seem'd the face of a great lord,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Being mended as a craftsman mends a cup.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Also the heralds sung rejoicingly<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To their long trumpets; Fallen under shield,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here lieth Lucius, King of Italy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Slain by Lord Launcelot in open field.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Thereat the people shouted: Launcelot!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And through the spears I saw you drawing nigh,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">You and Lord Arthur: nay, I saw you not,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But rather Arthur, God would not let die,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I hoped, these many years; he should grow great,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And in his great arms still encircle me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Kissing my face, half blinded with the heat<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of king's love for the queen I used to be.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Launcelot, Launcelot, why did he take your hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When he had kissed me in his kingly way?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Saying: This is the knight whom all the land<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Calls Arthur's banner, sword, and shield to-day;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Cherish him, love. Why did your long lips cleave<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In such strange way unto my fingers then?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So eagerly glad to kiss, so loath to leave<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When you rose up? Why among helmed men<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Could I always tell you by your long strong arms,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And sway like an angel's in your saddle there?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why sicken'd I so often with alarms<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Over the tilt-yard? Why were you more fair<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Than aspens in the autumn at their best?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Why did you fill all lands with your great fame,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So that Breuse even, as he rode, fear'd lest<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">At turning of the way your shield should flame?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Was it nought then, my agony and strife?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When as day passed by day, year after year,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I found I could not live a righteous life!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Didst ever think queens held their truth for dear?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O, but your lips say: Yea, but she was cold<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sometimes, always uncertain as the spring;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When I was sad she would be overbold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Longing for kisses. When war-bells did ring,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The back-toll'd bells of noisy Camelot.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">'Now, Lord God, listen! listen, Guenevere,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though I am weak just now, I think there's not<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A man who dares to say: You hated her,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And left her moaning while you fought your fill<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In the daisied meadows! lo you her thin hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That on the carven stone can not keep still,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Because she loves me against God's command,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Has often been quite wet with tear on tear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Tears Launcelot keeps somewhere, surely not<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In his own heart, perhaps in Heaven, where<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He will not be these ages.' 'Launcelot!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Loud lips, wrung heart! I say when the bells rang,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The noisy back-toll'd bells of Camelot,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There were two spots on earth, the thrushes sang<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In the lonely gardens where my love was not,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Where I was almost weeping; I dared not<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Weep quite in those days, lest one maid should say,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In tittering whispers: Where is Launcelot<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To wipe with some kerchief those tears away?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Another answer sharply with brows knit,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And warning hand up, scarcely lower though:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You speak too loud, see you, she heareth it,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">This tigress fair has claws, as I well know,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">As Launcelot knows too, the poor knight! well-a-day!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Why met he not with Iseult from the West,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Or better still, Iseult of Brittany?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Perchance indeed quite ladyless were best.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Alas, my maids, you loved not overmuch<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Queen Guenevere, uncertain as sunshine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In March; forgive me! for my sin being such,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">About my whole life, all my deeds did twine,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Made me quite wicked; as I found out then,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I think; in the lonely palace where each morn<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We went, my maids and I, to say prayers when<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">They sang mass in the chapel on the lawn.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And every morn I scarce could pray at all,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For Launcelot's red-golden hair would play,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Instead of sunlight, on the painted wall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Mingled with dreams of what the priest did say;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Grim curses out of Peter and of Paul;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Judging of strange sins in Leviticus;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Another sort of writing on the wall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Scored deep across the painted heads of us.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Christ sitting with the woman at the well,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And Mary Magdalen repenting there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her dimmed eyes scorch'd and red at sight of hell<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So hardly 'scaped, no gold light on her hair.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And if the priest said anything that seemed<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To touch upon the sin they said we did,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(This in their teeth) they looked as if they deem'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That I was spying what thoughts might be hid<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Under green-cover'd bosoms, heaving quick<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Beneath quick thoughts; while they grew red with shame,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And gazed down at their feet: while I felt sick,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And almost shriek'd if one should call my name.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The thrushes sang in the lone garden there:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But where you were the birds were scared I trow:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Clanging of arms about pavilions fair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Mixed with the knights' laughs; there, as I well know,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Rode Launcelot, the king of all the band,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And scowling Gauwaine, like the night in day,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And handsome Gareth, with his great white hand<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Curl'd round the helm-crest, ere he join'd the fray;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And merry Dinadan with sharp dark face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">All true knights loved to see; and in the fight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Great Tristram, and though helmed you could trace<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In all his bearing the frank noble knight;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And by him Palomydes, helmet off,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He fought, his face brush'd by his hair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Red heavy swinging hair; he fear'd a scoff<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So overmuch, though what true knight would dare<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">To mock that face, fretted with useless care,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And bitter useless striving after love?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O Palomydes, with much honour bear<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Beast Glatysaunt upon your shield, above<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Your helm that hides the swinging of your hair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And think of Iseult, as your sword drives through<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Much mail and plate: O God, let me be there<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A little time, as I was long ago!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Because stout Gareth lets his spear fall low,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Gauwaine and Launcelot, and Dinadan<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are helm'd and waiting; let the trumpets go!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Bend over, ladies, to see all you can!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Clench teeth, dames, yea, clasp hands, for Gareth's spear<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Throws Kay from out his saddle, like a stone<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From a castle-window when the foe draws near:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Iseult! Sir Dinadan rolleth overthrown.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Iseult! again: the pieces of each spear<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Fly fathoms up, and both the great steeds reel;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tristram for Iseult! Iseult! and Guenevere!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The ladies' names bite verily like steel.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">They bite: bite me, Lord God! I shall go mad,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or else die kissing him, he is so pale,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He thinks me mad already, O bad! bad!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Let me lie down a little while and wail.'<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">'No longer so, rise up, I pray you, love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And slay me really, then we shall be heal'd,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Perchance, in the aftertime by God above.'<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">'Banner of Arthur, with black-bended shield<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sinister-wise across the fair gold ground!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Here let me tell you what a knight you are,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O sword and shield of Arthur! you are found<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A crooked sword, I think, that leaves a scar<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">On the bearer's arm, so be he thinks it straight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Twisted Malay's crease beautiful blue-grey,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Poison'd with sweet fruit; as he found too late,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My husband Arthur, on some bitter day!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O sickle cutting hemlock the day long!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That the husbandman across his shoulder hangs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, going homeward about evensong,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Dies the next morning, struck through by the fangs!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Banner, and sword, and shield, you dare not die,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Lest you meet Arthur in the other world,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, knowing who you are, he pass you by,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Taking short turns that he may watch you curl'd,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Body and face and limbs in agony,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Lest he weep presently and go away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Saying: I loved him once, with a sad sigh,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Now I have slain him, Lord, let me go too, I pray.<br /></span>
+<span class="i14">[Launcelot <i>falls</i>.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Alas! alas! I know not what to do,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">If I run fast it is perchance that I<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">May fall and stun myself, much better so,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Never, never again! not even when I die.'<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Launcelot</span>, <i>on awaking</i>.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">'I stretch'd my hands towards her and fell down,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">How long I lay in swoon I cannot tell:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My head and hands were bleeding from the stone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When I rose up, also I heard a bell.'<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p>
+<h2><big>SIR GALAHAD, A CHRISTMAS MYSTERY</big></h2>
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p>
+<h2>SIR GALAHAD, A CHRISTMAS MYSTERY</h2>
+
+
+
+<div class="cpoem30"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="id0"><span class="dcap">I</span>T is the longest night in all the year,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Near on the day when the Lord Christ was born;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Six hours ago I came and sat down here,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And ponder'd sadly, wearied and forlorn.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The winter wind that pass'd the chapel door,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sang out a moody tune, that went right well<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With mine own thoughts: I look'd down on the floor,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Between my feet, until I heard a bell<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sound a long way off through the forest deep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And toll on steadily; a drowsiness<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Came on me, so that I fell half asleep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As I sat there not moving: less and less<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I saw the melted snow that hung in beads<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Upon my steel-shoes; less and less I saw<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Between the tiles the bunches of small weeds:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Heartless and stupid, with no touch of awe<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Upon me, half-shut eyes upon the ground,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I thought: O Galahad! the days go by,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stop and cast up now that which you have found,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So sorely you have wrought and painfully.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Night after night your horse treads down alone<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The sere damp fern, night after night you sit<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Holding the bridle like a man of stone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Dismal, unfriended: what thing comes of it?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And what if Palomydes also ride,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And over many a mountain and bare heath<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Follow the questing beast with none beside?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is he not able still to hold his breath<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">With thoughts of Iseult? doth he not grow pale<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With weary striving, to seem best of all<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">To her, 'as she is best,' he saith? to fail<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is nothing to him, he can never fall.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For unto such a man love-sorrow is<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So dear a thing unto his constant heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That even if he never win one kiss,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or touch from Iseult, it will never part.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And he will never know her to be worse<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Than in his happiest dreams he thinks she is:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Good knight, and faithful, you have 'scaped the curse<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In wonderful-wise; you have great store of bliss.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yea, what if Father Launcelot ride out,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Can he not think of Guenevere's arms, round<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Warm and lithe, about his neck, and shout<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Till all the place grows joyful with the sound?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And when he lists can often see her face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And think, 'Next month I kiss you, or next week,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And still you think of me': therefore the place<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Grows very pleasant, whatsoever he seek.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But me, who ride alone, some carle shall find<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Dead in my arms in the half-melted snow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When all unkindly with the shifting wind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The thaw comes on at Candlemas: I know<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Indeed that they will say: 'This Galahad<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">If he had lived had been a right good knight;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ah! poor chaste body!' but they will be glad,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Not most alone, but all, when in their sight<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">That very evening in their scarlet sleeves<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The gay-dress'd minstrels sing; no maid will talk<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of sitting on my tomb, until the leaves,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Grown big upon the bushes of the walk,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">East of the Palace-pleasaunce, make it hard<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To see the minster therefrom: well-a-day!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Before the trees by autumn were well bared,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I saw a damozel with gentle play,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Within that very walk say last farewell<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To her dear knight, just riding out to find<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(Why should I choke to say it?) the Sangreal,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And their last kisses sunk into my mind,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yea, for she stood lean'd forward on his breast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Rather, scarce stood; the back of one dear hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That it might well be kiss'd, she held and press'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Against his lips; long time they stood there, fann'd<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">By gentle gusts of quiet frosty wind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Till Mador de la porte a-going by,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And my own horsehoofs roused them; they untwined,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And parted like a dream. In this way I,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">With sleepy face bent to the chapel floor,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Kept musing half asleep, till suddenly<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A sharp bell rang from close beside the door,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And I leapt up when something pass'd me by,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Shrill ringing going with it, still half blind<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I stagger'd after, a great sense of awe<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At every step kept gathering on my mind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thereat I have no marvel, for I saw<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">One sitting on the altar as a throne,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Whose face no man could say he did not know,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And though the bell still rang, he sat alone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With raiment half blood-red, half white as snow.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Right so I fell upon the floor and knelt,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Not as one kneels in church when mass is said,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But in a heap, quite nerveless, for I felt<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The first time what a thing was perfect dread.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But mightily the gentle voice came down:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">'Rise up, and look and listen, Galahad,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Good knight of God, for you will see no frown<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Upon my face; I come to make you glad.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For that you say that you are all alone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I will be with you always, and fear not<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You are uncared for, though no maiden moan<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Above your empty tomb; for Launcelot,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He in good time shall be my servant too,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Meantime, take note whose sword first made him knight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And who has loved him alway, yea, and who<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Still trusts him alway, though in all men's sight,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He is just what you know, O Galahad,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">This love is happy even as you say,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But would you for a little time be glad,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To make ME sorry long, day after day?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Her warm arms round his neck half throttle ME,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The hot love-tears burn deep like spots of lead,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yea, and the years pass quick: right dismally<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Will Launcelot at one time hang his head;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yea, old and shrivell'd he shall win my love.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Poor Palomydes fretting out his soul!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not always is he able, son, to move<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">His love, and do it honour: needs must roll<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The proudest destrier sometimes in the dust,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And then 'tis weary work; he strives beside<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Seem better than he is, so that his trust<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is always on what chances may betide;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And so he wears away, my servant, too,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When all these things are gone, and wretchedly<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He sits and longs to moan for Iseult, who<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is no care now to Palomydes: see,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O good son Galahad, upon this day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Now even, all these things are on your side,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But these you fight not for; look up, I say,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And see how I can love you, for no pride<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Closes your eyes, no vain lust keeps them down.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">See now you have ME always; following<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That holy vision, Galahad, go on,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Until at last you come to ME to sing<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In Heaven always, and to walk around<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The garden where I am.' He ceased, my face<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And wretched body fell upon the ground;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And when I look'd again, the holy place<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Was empty; but right so the bell again<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Came to the chapel-door, there entered<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Two angels first, in white, without a stain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And scarlet wings, then, after them, a bed<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Four ladies bore, and set it down beneath<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The very altar-step, and while for fear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I scarcely dared to move or draw my breath,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Those holy ladies gently came a-near,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And quite unarm'd me, saying: 'Galahad,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Rest here awhile and sleep, and take no thought<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of any other thing than being glad;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Hither the Sangreal will be shortly brought,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yet must you sleep the while it stayeth here.'<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Right so they went away, and I, being weary,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Slept long and dream'd of Heaven: the bell comes near,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I doubt it grows to morning. Miserere!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Enter Two Angels in white, with scarlet wings; also,
+Four Ladies in gowns of red and green; also an
+Angel, bearing in his hands a surcoat of white,
+with a red cross.</i></p></div>
+
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">An Angel</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O servant of the high God, Galahad!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Rise and be arm'd: the Sangreal is gone forth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Through the great forest, and you must be had<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Unto the sea that lieth on the north:<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There shall you find the wondrous ship wherein<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The spindles of King Solomon are laid,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And the sword that no man draweth without sin,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But if he be most pure: and there is stay'd,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Hard by, Sir Launcelot, whom you will meet<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In some short space upon that ship: first, though,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Will come here presently that lady sweet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sister of Percival, whom you well know,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And with her Bors and Percival: stand now,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">These ladies will to arm you.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">First Lady</span>, <i>putting on the hauberk</i>.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i14">Galahad,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That I may stand so close beneath your brow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I, Margaret of Antioch, am glad.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Second Lady</span>, <i>girding him with the sword</i>.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">That I may stand and touch you with my hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">O Galahad, I, Cecily, am glad.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Third Lady</span>, <i>buckling on the spurs</i>.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">That I may kneel while up above you stand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And gaze at me, O holy Galahad,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I, Lucy, am most glad.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Fourth Lady</span>, <i>putting on the basnet</i>.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i12">O gentle knight,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span>
+<span class="i2">That you bow down to us in reverence,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We are most glad, I, Katherine, with delight<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Must needs fall trembling.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Angel</span>, <i>putting on the crossed surcoat</i>.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i12">Galahad, we go hence,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For here, amid the straying of the snow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Come Percival's sister, Bors, and Percival.<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">[<i>The Four Ladies carry out the bed, and all go but</i> Galahad.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Galahad.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">How still and quiet everything seems now:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">They come, too, for I hear the horsehoofs fall.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Enter</i> Sir Bors, Sir Percival, <i>and</i> his Sister.</p></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Fair friends and gentle lady, God you save!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A many marvels have been here to-night;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tell me what news of Launcelot you have,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And has God's body ever been in sight?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Sir Bors.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Why, as for seeing that same holy thing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As we were riding slowly side by side,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">An hour ago, we heard a sweet voice sing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And through the bare twigs saw a great light glide,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">With many-colour'd raiment, but far off;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And so pass'd quickly: from the court nought good;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Poor merry Dinadan, that with jape and scoff<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Kept us all merry, in a little wood<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Was found all hack'd and dead: Sir Lionel<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And Gauwaine have come back from the great quest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Just merely shamed; and Lauvaine, who loved well<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Your father Launcelot, at the king's behest<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Went out to seek him, but was almost slain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Perhaps is dead now; everywhere<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The knights come foil'd from the great quest, in vain;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In vain they struggle for the vision fair.<br /></span>
+</div></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span></p>
+<h2><big>THE CHAPEL IN LYONESS</big></h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE CHAPEL IN LYONESS</h2>
+
+<p class="head1">Sir Ozana le cure Hardy. Sir Galahad.<br />
+Sir Bors de Ganys.</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem25">
+<p class="head6"><span class="smcap">Sir Ozana.</span></p>
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="id0"><span class="dcap">A</span>LL day long and every day,<br /></span>
+<span class="id0">From Christmas-Eve to Whit-Sunday,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Within that Chapel-aisle I lay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And no man came a-near.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Naked to the waist was I,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And deep within my breast did lie,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though no man any blood could spy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The truncheon of a spear.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">No meat did ever pass my lips<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those days. Alas! the sunlight slips<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From off the gilded parclose, dips,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And night comes on apace.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">My arms lay back behind my head;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Over my raised-up knees was spread<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A samite cloth of white and red;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A rose lay on my face.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Many a time I tried to shout;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But as in dream of battle-rout,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My frozen speech would not well out;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I could not even weep.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">With inward sigh I see the sun<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fade off the pillars one by one,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My heart faints when the day is done,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Because I cannot sleep.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sometimes strange thoughts pass through my head;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not like a tomb is this my bed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet oft I think that I am dead;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That round my tomb is writ,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">'Ozana of the hardy heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Knight of the Table Round,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pray for his soul, lords, of your part;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A true knight he was found.'<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span>
+<div class="rgt">[<i>He sleeps.</i></div><span class="i0">Ah! me, I cannot fathom it.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head6"><span class="smcap">Sir Galahad.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">All day long and every day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till his madness pass'd away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I watch'd Ozana as he lay<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Within the gilded screen.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">All my singing moved him not;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As I sung my heart grew hot,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With the thought of Launcelot<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Far away, I ween.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So I went a little space<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From out the chapel, bathed my face<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In the stream that runs apace<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">By the churchyard wall.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There I pluck'd a faint wild rose,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hard by where the linden grows,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sighing over silver rows<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of the lilies tall.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I laid the flower across his mouth;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sparkling drops seem'd good for drouth;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">He smiled, turn'd round towards the south.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Held up a golden tress.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The light smote on it from the west;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He drew the covering from his breast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Against his heart that hair he prest;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Death him soon will bless.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head6"><span class="smcap">Sir Bors.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I enter'd by the western door;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I saw a knight's helm lying there:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I raised my eyes from off the floor,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And caught the gleaming of his hair.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I stept full softly up to him;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I laid my chin upon his head;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I felt him smile; my eyes did swim,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I was so glad he was not dead.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I heard Ozana murmur low,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">'There comes no sleep nor any love.'<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But Galahad stoop'd and kiss'd his brow:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He shiver'd; I saw his pale lips move.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head6"><span class="smcap">Sir Ozana.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There comes no sleep nor any love;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Ah me! I shiver with delight.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I am so weak I cannot move;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">God move me to thee, dear, to-night!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Christ help! I have but little wit:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My life went wrong; I see it writ,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">'Ozana of the hardy heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Knight of the Table Round,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pray for his soul, lords, on your part;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A good knight he was found.'<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<div class="rgt">[<i>He dies.</i></div><span class="i0">Now I begin to fathom it.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head6"><span class="smcap">Sir Bors.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Galahad sits dreamily;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What strange things may his eyes see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Great blue eyes fix'd full on me?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On his soul, Lord, have mercy.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head6"><span class="smcap">Sir Galahad.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ozana, shall I pray for thee?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her cheek is laid to thine;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">No long time hence, also I see<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thy wasted fingers twine<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Within the tresses of her hair<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That shineth gloriously,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thinly outspread in the clear air<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Against the jasper sea.<br /></span>
+</div></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p>
+<h2><big>SIR PETER HARPDON'S END</big></h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p>
+<h2>SIR PETER HARPDON'S END</h2>
+
+
+<p class="center"><i>In an English Castle in Poictou.</i></p>
+
+<p class="center">Sir Peter Harpdon, <i>a Gascon knight in the English<br />
+service, and</i> John Curzon, <i>his lieutenant</i>.</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem30">
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">John Curzon.</span></p>
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="id0"><span class="dcap">O</span>F those three prisoners, that before you came<br /></span>
+<span class="id0">We took down at St. John's hard by the mill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Two are good masons; we have tools enough,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And you have skill to set them working.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Sir Peter.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i16">So:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What are their names?<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">John Curzon.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">Why, Jacques Aquadent,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Peter Plombiere, but,<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Sir Peter.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i12">What colour'd hair<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Has Peter now? has Jacques got bow legs?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">John Curzon.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Why, sir, you jest: what matters Jacques' hair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or Peter's legs to us?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Sir Peter.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">O! John, John, John!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Throw all your mason's tools down the deep well,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hang Peter up and Jacques; They're no good,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We shall not build, man.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">John Curzon</span> (<i>going</i>).</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">Shall I call the guard<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To hang them, sir? and yet, sir, for the tools,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We'd better keep them still; sir, fare you well.<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">[<i>Muttering as he goes.</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What have I done that he should jape at me?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And why not build? the walls are weak enough,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And we've two masons and a heap of tools.<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">[<i>Goes, still muttering.</i><br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Sir Peter.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">To think a man should have a lump like that<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For his lieutenant! I must call him back,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or else, as surely as St. George is dead,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He'll hang our friends the masons: here, John! John!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">John Curzon.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">At your good service, sir.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Sir Peter.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">Come now, and talk<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This weighty matter out; there, we've no stone<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To mend our walls with, neither brick nor stone.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">John Curzon.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There is a quarry, sir, some ten miles off.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Sir Peter.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">We are not strong enough to send ten men<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ten miles to fetch us stone enough to build.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In three hours' time they would be taken or slain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The cursed Frenchmen ride abroad so thick.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">John Curzon.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But we can send some villaynes to get stone.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Sir Peter.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Alas! John, that we cannot bring them back,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">They would go off to Clisson or Sanxere,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And tell them we were weak in walls and men,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then down go we; for, look you, times are changed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And now no longer does the country shake<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At sound of English names; our captains fade<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From off our muster-rolls. At Lusac bridge<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I daresay you may even yet see the hole<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That Chandos beat in dying; far in Spain<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pembroke is prisoner; Phelton prisoner here;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Manny lies buried in the Charterhouse;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oliver Clisson turn'd these years agone;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Captal died in prison; and, over all,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Edward the prince lies underneath the ground,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Edward the king is dead, at Westminster<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The carvers smooth the curls of his long beard.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Everything goes to rack&mdash;eh! and we too.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now, Curzon, listen; if they come, these French,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whom have I got to lean on here, but you?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A man can die but once, will you die then,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your brave sword in your hand, thoughts in your heart<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of all the deeds we have done here in France&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And yet may do? So God will have your soul,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whoever has your body.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">John Curzon.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">Why, sir, I<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Will fight till the last moment, until then<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Will do whate'er you tell me. Now I see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We must e'en leave the walls; well, well, perhaps<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They're stronger than I think for; pity, though!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For some few tons of stone, if Guesclin comes.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Sir Peter.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Farewell, John, pray you watch the Gascons well,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I doubt them.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">John Curzon.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="rgt">[<i>Goes.</i></div><span class="i6">Truly, sir, I will watch well.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Sir Peter.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Farewell, good lump! and yet, when all is said,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Tis a good lump. Why then, if Guesclin comes;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some dozen stones from his petrariae,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, under shelter of his crossbows, just<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An hour's steady work with pickaxes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then a great noise&mdash;some dozen swords and glaives<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A-playing on my basnet all at once,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And little more cross purposes on earth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For me.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Now this is hard: a month ago,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And a few minutes' talk had set things right<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twixt me and Alice; if she had a doubt,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As, may Heaven bless her! I scarce think she had,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twas but their hammer, hammer in her ears,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of how Sir Peter fail'd at Lusac Bridge:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And how he was grown moody of late days;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And how Sir Lambert, think now! his dear friend,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His sweet, dear cousin, could not but confess<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That Peter's talk tended towards the French,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which he, for instance Lambert, was glad of,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Being, Lambert, you see, on the French side.<br /></span>
+<span class="i18">Well,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If I could but have seen her on that day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then, when they sent me off!<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">I like to think,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Although it hurts me, makes my head twist, what,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If I had seen her, what I should have said,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What she, my darling, would have said and done.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As thus perchance.<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">To find her sitting there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In the window-seat, not looking well at all,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Crying perhaps, and I say quietly:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Alice! she looks up, chokes a sob, looks grave,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Changes from pale to red, but, ere she speaks,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Straightway I kneel down there on both my knees,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And say: O lady, have I sinn'd, your knight?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That still you ever let me walk alone<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In the rose garden, that you sing no songs<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When I am by, that ever in the dance<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You quietly walk away when I come near?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now that I have you, will you go, think you?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Ere she could answer I would speak again,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Still kneeling there.<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">What! they have frighted you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By hanging burs, and clumsily carven puppets,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Round my good name; but afterwards, my love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I will say what this means; this moment, see!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Do I kneel here, and can you doubt me? Yea:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For she would put her hands upon my face:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yea, that is best, yea feel, love, am I changed?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And she would say: Good knight, come, kiss my lips!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And afterwards as I sat there would say:<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Please a poor silly girl by telling me<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What all those things they talk of really were,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For it is true you did not help Chandos,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And true, poor love! you could not come to me<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When I was in such peril.<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">I should say:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I am like Balen, all things turn to blame.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I did not come to you? At Bergerath<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The constable had held us close shut up,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If from the barriers I had made three steps,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I should have been but slain; at Lusac, too,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We struggled in a marish half the day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And came too late at last: you know, my love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How heavy men and horses are all arm'd.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All that Sir Lambert said was pure, unmix'd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Quite groundless lies; as you can think, sweet love.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She, holding tight my hand as we sat there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Started a little at Sir Lambert's name,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But otherwise she listen'd scarce at all<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To what I said. Then with moist, weeping eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And quivering lips, that scarcely let her speak,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She said: I love you.<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Other words were few,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The remnant of that hour; her hand smooth'd down<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">My foolish head; she kiss'd me all about<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My face, and through the tangles of my beard<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her little fingers crept!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">O God, my Alice,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not this good way: my lord but sent and said<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That Lambert's sayings were taken at their worth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Therefore that day I was to start, and keep<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This hold against the French; and I am here:<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">[<i>Looks out of the window.</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A sprawling lonely garde with rotten walls,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And no one to bring aid if Guesclin comes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or any other.<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">There's a pennon now!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At last.<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">But not the constable's: whose arms,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I wonder, does it bear? Three golden rings<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On a red ground; my cousin's by the rood!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Well, I should like to kill him, certainly,<br /></span>
+<div class="rgt">[<i>A trumpet sounds.</i></div><span class="i0">But to be kill'd by him:<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">That's for a herald;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I doubt this does not mean assaulting yet.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><i>Enter</i> John Curzon.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">What says the herald of our cousin, sir?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">John Curzon.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So please you, sir, concerning your estate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He has good will to talk with you.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Sir Peter.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i14">Outside,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'll talk with him, close by the gate St. Ives.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is he unarm'd?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">John Curzon.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i8">Yea, sir, in a long gown.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Sir Peter.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then bid them bring me hither my furr'd gown<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With the long sleeves, and under it I'll wear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By Lambert's leave, a secret coat of mail;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And will you lend me, John, your little axe?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I mean the one with Paul wrought on the blade?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I will carry it inside my sleeve,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Good to be ready always; you, John, go<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And bid them set up many suits of arms,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bows, archgays, lances, in the base-court, and<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yourself, from the south postern setting out,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With twenty men, be ready to break through<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Their unguarded rear when I cry out, St. George!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">John Curzon.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">How, sir! will you attack him unawares,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And slay him unarm'd?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Sir Peter.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">Trust me, John, I know<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The reason why he comes here with sleeved gown,<br /></span>
+<div class="rgt">[<i>They go.</i></div><span class="i0">Fit to hide axes up. So, let us go.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p style="margin-top: 4em;"><i>Outside the castle by the great gate;</i> Sir Lambert <i>and</i>
+Sir Peter <i>seated; guards attending each, the rest
+of</i> Sir Lambert's <i>men drawn up about a furlong
+off.</i></p></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Sir Peter.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="id0"><span class="dcap">A</span>ND if I choose to take the losing side<br /></span>
+<span class="id0">Still, does it hurt you?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Sir Lambert.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i12">O! no hurt to me;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I see you sneering, Why take trouble then,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Seeing you love me not? Look you, our house<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(Which, taken altogether, I love much)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had better be upon the right side now,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If, once for all, it wishes to bear rule<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As such a house should: cousin, you're too wise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To feed your hope up fat, that this fair France<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Will ever draw two ways again; this side<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The French, wrong-headed, all a-jar<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With envious longings; and the other side<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The order'd English, orderly led on<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">By those two Edwards through all wrong and right,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And muddling right and wrong to a thick broth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With that long stick, their strength. This is all changed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The true French win, on either side you have<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cool-headed men, good at a tilting match,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And good at setting battles in array,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And good at squeezing taxes at due time;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Therefore by nature we French being here<br /></span>
+<div class="rgt">[<i>Sir Peter laughs aloud.</i></div><span class="i0">Upon our own big land:<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">Well, Peter! well!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What makes you laugh?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Sir Peter.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">Hearing you sweat to prove<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All this I know so well; but you have read<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The siege of Troy?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Sir Lambert.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i8">O! yea, I know it well.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Sir Peter.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There! they were wrong, as wrong as men could be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For, as I think, they found it such delight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To see fair Helen going through their town;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yea, any little common thing she did<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">(As stooping to pick a flower) seem'd so strange,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So new in its great beauty, that they said:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here we will keep her living in this town,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till all burns up together. And so, fought,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In a mad whirl of knowing they were wrong;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yea, they fought well, and ever, like a man<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That hangs legs off the ground by both his hands,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Over some great height, did they struggle sore,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Quite sure to slip at last; wherefore, take note<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How almost all men, reading that sad siege,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hold for the Trojans; as I did at least,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thought Hector the best knight a long way:<br /></span>
+<span class="i18">Now<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why should I not do this thing that I think;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For even when I come to count the gains,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I have them my side: men will talk, you know<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(We talk of Hector, dead so long agone,)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When I am dead, of how this Peter clung<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To what he thought the right; of how he died,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Perchance, at last, doing some desperate deed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Few men would care do now, and this is gain<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To me, as ease and money is to you.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Moreover, too, I like the straining game<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of striving well to hold up things that fall;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">So one becomes great. See you! in good times<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All men live well together, and you, too,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Live dull and happy: happy? not so quick,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Suppose sharp thoughts begin to burn you up?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why then, but just to fight as I do now,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A halter round my neck, would be great bliss.</span>
+<div class="rgt">[<i>Aside.</i></div><span class="i0">O! I am well off.<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Talk, and talk, and talk,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I know this man has come to murder me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And yet I talk still.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Sir Lambert.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i8">If your side were right,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You might be, though you lost; but if I said,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'You are a traitor, being, as you are,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Born Frenchman.' What are Edwards unto you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or Richards?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Sir Peter.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i6">Nay, hold there, my Lambert, hold!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For fear your zeal should bring you to some harm,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Don't call me traitor.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Sir Lambert.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i8">Furthermore, my knight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Men call you slippery on your losing side,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When at Bordeaux I was ambassador,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">I heard them say so, and could scarce say: Nay.<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">[<i>He takes hold of something in</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i12"><i>his sleeve, and rises.</i><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Sir Peter</span>, <i>rising</i>.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">They lied: and you lie, not for the first time.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What have you got there, fumbling up your sleeve,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A stolen purse?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Sir Lambert.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i6">Nay, liar in your teeth!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dead liar too; St. Denis and St. Lambert!<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">[<i>Strikes at</i> Sir Peter <i>with a dagger</i>.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Sir Peter</span>, <i>striking him flatlings with his axe</i>.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">How thief! thief! thief! so there, fair thief, so there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">St. George Guienne! glaives for the castellan!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You French, you are but dead, unless you lay<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your spears upon the earth. St. George Guienne!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Well done, John Curzon, how he has them now.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+<p class="head5" style="margin-top: 4em;"><i>In the Castle.</i></p>
+
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">John Curzon.</span></p>
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="id0"><span class="dcap">W</span>HAT shall we do with all these prisoners, sir?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Sir Peter.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Why, put them all to ransom, those that can<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pay anything, but not too light though, John,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Seeing we have them on the hip: for those<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That have no money, that being certified,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why, turn them out of doors before they spy;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But bring Sir Lambert guarded unto me.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">John Curzon.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="rgt">[<i>He goes.</i></div><span class="i0">I will, fair sir.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Sir Peter.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i6">I do not wish to kill him,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Although I think I ought; he shall go mark'd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By all the saints, though!<br /></span>
+<span class="i6"><i>Enter</i> Lambert <i>guarded</i>.<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">Now, Sir Lambert, now!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What sort of death do you expect to get,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Being taken this way?<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Sir Lambert.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">Cousin! cousin! think!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I am your own blood; may God pardon me!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I am not fit to die; if you knew all,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All I have done since I was young and good.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O! you would give me yet another chance,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As God would, that I might wash all clear out,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By serving you and Him. Let me go now!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I will pay you down more golden crowns<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of ransom than the king would!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Sir Peter.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i12">Well, stand back,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And do not touch me! No, you shall not die,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor yet pay ransom. You, John Curzon, cause<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some carpenters to build a scaffold, high,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Outside the gate; when it is built, sound out<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To all good folks, 'Come, see a traitor punish'd!'<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Take me my knight, and set him up thereon,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And let the hangman shave his head quite clean,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And cut his ears off close up to the head;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And cause the minstrels all the while to play<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Soft music, and good singing; for this day<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is my high day of triumph; is it not,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sir Lambert?<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Sir Lambert.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i6">Ah! on your own blood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Own name, you heap this foul disgrace? you dare,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With hands and fame thus sullied, to go back<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And take the lady Alice?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Sir Peter.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">Say her name<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Again, and you are dead, slain here by me.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why should I talk with you? I'm master here,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And do not want your schooling; is it not<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My mercy that you are not dangling dead<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There in the gateway with a broken neck?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Sir Lambert.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Such mercy! why not kill me then outright?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To die is nothing; but to live that all<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">May point their fingers! yea, I'd rather die.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">John Curzon.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Why, will it make you any uglier man<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To lose your ears? they're much too big for you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You ugly Judas!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Sir Peter.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="rgt">[<i>To</i> Lambert.</div><span class="i6">Hold, John!<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">That's your choice,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To die, mind! Then you shall die: Lambert mine,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">I thank you now for choosing this so well,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It saves me much perplexity and doubt;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Perchance an ill deed too, for half I count<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This sparing traitors is an ill deed.<br /></span>
+<span class="i14">Well,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lambert, die bravely, and we're almost friends.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Sir Lambert</span>, <i>grovelling</i>.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O God! this is a fiend and not a man;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Will some one save me from him? help, help, help!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I will not die.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Sir Peter.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i6">Why, what is this I see?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A man who is a knight, and bandied words<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So well just now with me, is lying down,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Gone mad for fear like this! So, so, you thought<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You knew the worst, and might say what you pleased.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I should have guess'd this from a man like you.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Eh! righteous Job would give up skin for skin,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yea, all a man can have for simple life,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And we talk fine, yea, even a hound like this,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who needs must know that when he dies, deep hell<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Will hold him fast for ever, so fine we talk,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Would rather die,' all that. Now sir, get up!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And choose again: shall it be head sans ears,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or trunk sans head?<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">John Curzon, pull him up!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What, life then? go and build the scaffold, John.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Lambert, I hope that never on this earth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We meet again; that you'll turn out a monk,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And mend the life I give you, so farewell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'm sorry you're a rascal. John, despatch.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></div></div>
+
+<p class="center" style="margin-top: 4em;"><i>In the French camp before the Castle.</i><br /><br />
+Sir Peter <i>prisoner</i>, Guesclin, Clisson, Sir Lambert.</p>
+
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Sir Peter.</span></p>
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="id0"><span class="dcap">S</span>O now is come the ending of my life;<br /></span>
+<span class="id0">If I could clear this sickening lump away<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That sticks in my dry throat, and say a word,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Guesclin might listen.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Guesclin.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">Tell me, fair sir knight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If you have been clean liver before God,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then you need not fear much; as for me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I cannot say I hate you, yet my oath,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And cousin Lambert's ears here clench the thing.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Sir Peter.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I knew you could not hate me, therefore I<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Am bold to pray for life; 'twill harm your cause<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To hang knights of good name, harms here in France<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I have small doubt, at any rate hereafter<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Men will remember you another way<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than I should care to be remember'd, ah!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Although hot lead runs through me for my blood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All this falls cold as though I said, Sweet lords,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Give back my falcon!<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">See how young I am,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Do you care altogether more for France,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Say rather one French faction, than for all<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The state of Christendom? a gallant knight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As (yea, by God!) I have been, is more worth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than many castles; will you bring this death,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For a mere act of justice, on my head?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Think how it ends all, death! all other things<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Can somehow be retrieved, yea, send me forth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Naked and maimed, rather than slay me here;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then somehow will I get me other clothes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And somehow will I get me some poor horse,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, somehow clad in poor old rusty arms,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Will ride and smite among the serried glaives,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fear not death so; for I can tilt right well,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let me not say I could; I know all tricks,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That sway the sharp sword cunningly; ah you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You, my Lord Clisson, in the other days<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have seen me learning these, yea, call to mind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How in the trodden corn by Chartres town,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">When you were nearly swooning from the back<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of your black horse, those three blades slid at once<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From off my sword's edge; pray for me, my lord!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Clisson.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Nay, this is pitiful, to see him die.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My Lord the Constable, I pray you note<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That you are losing some few thousand crowns<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By slaying this man; also think: his lands<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Along the Garonne river lie for leagues,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And are right rich, a many mills he has,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Three abbeys of grey monks do hold of him:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though wishing well for Clement, as we do,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I know the next heir, his old uncle, well,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who does not care two deniers for the knight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As things go now, but slay him, and then see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How he will bristle up like any perch,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With curves of spears. What! do not doubt, my lord,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You'll get the money, this man saved my life,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I will buy him for two thousand crowns;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Well, five then: eh! what! No again? well then,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ten thousand crowns?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Guesclin.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">My sweet lord, much I grieve<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">I cannot please you, yea, good sooth, I grieve<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This knight must die, as verily he must;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For I have sworn it, so men take him out,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Use him not roughly.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Sir Lambert</span>, <i>coming forward</i>.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i12">Music, do you know,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Music will suit you well, I think, because<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You look so mild, like Laurence being grill'd;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or perhaps music soft and slow, because<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This is high day of triumph unto me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is it not, Peter?<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">You are frighten'd, though,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Eh! you are pale, because this hurts you much,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose life was pleasant to you, not like mine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You ruin'd wretch! Men mock me in the streets,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Only in whispers loud, because I am<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Friend of the constable; will this please you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unhappy Peter? once a-going home,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Without my servants, and a little drunk,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At midnight through the lone dim lamp-lit streets.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A whore came up and spat into my eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rather to blind me than to make me see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But she was very drunk, and tottering back,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Even in the middle of her laughter fell<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And cut her head against the pointed stones,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While I lean'd on my staff, and look'd at her,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And cried, being drunk.<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">Girls would not spit at you.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You are so handsome, I think verily<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Most ladies would be glad to kiss your eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And yet you will be hung like a cur dog<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Five minutes hence, and grow black in the face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And curl your toes up. Therefore I am glad.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Guess why I stand and talk this nonsense now,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With Guesclin getting ready to play chess,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Clisson doing something with his sword,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I can't see what, talking to Guesclin though,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I don't know what about, perhaps of you.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But, cousin Peter, while I stroke your beard,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let me say this, I'd like to tell you now<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That your life hung upon a game of chess,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That if, say, my squire Robert here should beat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why you should live, but hang if I beat him;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then guess, clever Peter, what I should do then:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Well, give it up? why, Peter, I should let<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My squire Robert beat me, then you would think<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That you were safe, you know; Eh? not at all,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">But I should keep you three days in some hold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Giving you salt to eat, which would be kind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Considering the tax there is on salt;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And afterwards should let you go, perhaps?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No I should not, but I should hang you, sir,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With a red rope in lieu of mere grey rope.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But I forgot, you have not told me yet<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If you can guess why I talk nonsense thus,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Instead of drinking wine while you are hang'd?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You are not quick at guessing, give it up.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This is the reason; here I hold your hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And watch you growing paler, see you writhe<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And this, my Peter, is a joy so dear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I cannot by all striving tell you how<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I love it, nor I think, good man, would you<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Quite understand my great delight therein;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You, when you had me underneath you once,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Spat as it were, and said, 'Go take him out,'<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That they might do that thing to me whereat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">E'en now this long time off I could well shriek,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then you tried forget I ever lived,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sunk your hating into other things;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While I: St. Denis! though, I think you'll faint,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Your lips are grey so; yes, you will, unless<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You let it out and weep like a hurt child;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hurrah! you do now. Do not go just yet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For I am Alice, am right like her now,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Will you not kiss me on the lips, my love?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Clisson.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">You filthy beast, stand back and let him go,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or by God's eyes I'll choke you!<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">[<i>Kneeling to</i> Sir Peter.<br /></span>
+<span class="i14">Fair sir knight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I kneel upon my knees and pray to you<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That you would pardon me for this your death;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">God knows how much I wish you still alive,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Also how heartily I strove to save<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your life at this time; yea, he knows quite well,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(I swear it, so forgive me!) how I would,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If it were possible, give up my life<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon this grass for yours; fair knight, although,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He knowing all things knows this thing too, well,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet when you see his face some short time hence,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tell him I tried to save you.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Sir Peter.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i12">O! my lord,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I cannot say this is as good as life,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">But yet it makes me feel far happier now,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And if at all, after a thousand years,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I see God's face, I will speak loud and bold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And tell Him you were kind, and like Himself;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sir, may God bless you!<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">Did you note how I<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fell weeping just now? pray you, do not think<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That Lambert's taunts did this, I hardly heard<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The base things that he said, being deep in thought<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of all things that have happen'd since I was<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A little child; and so at last I thought<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of my true lady: truly, sir, it seem'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No longer gone than yesterday, that this<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was the sole reason God let me be born<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Twenty-five years ago, that I might love<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her, my sweet lady, and be loved by her;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This seem'd so yesterday, to-day death comes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And is so bitter strong, I cannot see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why I was born.<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">But as a last request,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I pray you, O kind Clisson, send some man,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some good man, mind you, to say how I died,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And take my last love to her: fare-you-well,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And may God keep you; I must go now, lest<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">I grow too sick with thinking on these things;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Likewise my feet are wearied of the earth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From whence I shall be lifted upright soon.<br /></span>
+<span class="i14">[<i>As he goes.</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ah me! shamed too, I wept at fear of death;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And yet not so, I only wept because<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There was no beautiful lady to kiss me<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Before I died, and sweetly wish good speed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From her dear lips. O for some lady, though<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I saw her ne'er before; Alice, my love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I do not ask for; Clisson was right kind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If he had been a woman, I should die<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Without this sickness: but I am all wrong,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So wrong, and hopelessly afraid to die.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There, I will go.<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">My God! how sick I am,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If only she could come and kiss me now.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center" style="margin-top: 4em;"><i>The Hotel de la Barde, Bordeaux.</i><br /><br />
+The Lady Alice de la Barde <i>looking out of a<br />window into the street</i>.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="id0"><span class="dcap">N</span>O news yet! surely, still he holds his own:<br /></span>
+<span class="id0">That garde stands well; I mind me passing it<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some months ago; God grant the walls are strong!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I heard some knights say something yestereve,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I tried hard to forget: words far apart<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Struck on my heart something like this; one said:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What eh! a Gascon with an English name,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Harpdon? then nought, but afterwards: Poictou.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As one who answers to a question ask'd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then carelessly regretful came: No, no.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whereto in answer loud and eagerly,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">One said: Impossible? Christ, what foul play!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And went off angrily; and while thenceforth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I hurried gaspingly afraid, I heard:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Guesclin; Five thousand men-at-arms; Clisson.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My heart misgives me it is all in vain<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">I send these succours; and in good time there<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their trumpet sounds: ah! here they are; good knights,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">God up in Heaven keep you.<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">If they come<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And find him prisoner, for I can't believe<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Guesclin will slay him, even though they storm.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The last horse turns the corner.<br /></span>
+<span class="i14">God in Heaven!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What have I got to thinking of at last!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That thief I will not name is with Guesclin,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who loves him for his lands. My love! my love!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O, if I lose you after all the past,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What shall I do?<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">I cannot bear the noise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And light street out there, with this thought alive,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like any curling snake within my brain;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let me just hide my head within these soft<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Deep cushions, there to try and think it out.<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">[<i>Lying in the window-seat.</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I cannot hear much noise now, and I think<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That I shall go to sleep: it all sounds dim<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And faint, and I shall soon forget most things;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yea, almost that I am alive and here;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">It goes slow, comes slow, like a big mill-wheel<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On some broad stream, with long green weeds a-sway,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And soft and slow it rises and it falls,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Still going onward.<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Lying so, one kiss,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I should be in Avalon asleep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Among the poppies, and the yellow flowers;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And they should brush my cheek, my hair being spread<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Far out among the stems; soft mice and small<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Eating and creeping all about my feet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Red shod and tired; and the flies should come<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Creeping o'er my broad eyelids unafraid;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And there should be a noise of water going,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Clear blue fresh water breaking on the slates,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Likewise the flies should creep: God's eyes! God help!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A trumpet? I will run fast, leap adown<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The slippery sea-stairs, where the crabs fight.<br /></span>
+<span class="i18">Ah!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I was half dreaming, but the trumpet's true;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He stops here at our house. The Clisson arms?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ah, now for news. But I must hold my heart,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And be quite gentle till he is gone out;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And afterwards: but he is still alive,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He must be still alive.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4"><i>Enter a</i> Squire <i>of</i> Clisson's.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">Good day, fair sir,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I give you welcome, knowing whence you come.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Squire.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">My Lady Alice de la Barde, I come<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From Oliver Clisson, knight and mighty lord,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bringing you tidings: I make bold to hope<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You will not count me villain, even if<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They wring your heart, nor hold me still in hate;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For I am but a mouthpiece after all,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A mouthpiece, too, of one who wishes well<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To you and your's.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Alice.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i8">Can you talk faster, sir,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Get over all this quicker? fix your eyes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On mine, I pray you, and whate'er you see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Still go on talking fast, unless I fall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or bid you stop.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Squire.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i8">I pray your pardon then,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And, looking in your eyes, fair lady, say<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I am unhappy that your knight is dead.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Take heart, and listen! let me tell you all.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We were five thousand goodly men-at-arms,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And scant five hundred had he in that hold:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His rotten sand-stone walls were wet with rain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And fell in lumps wherever a stone hit;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet for three days about the barrier there<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The deadly glaives were gather'd, laid across,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And push'd and pull'd; the fourth our engines came;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But still amid the crash of falling walls,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And roar of lombards, rattle of hard bolts,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The steady bow-strings flash'd, and still stream'd out<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">St. George's banner, and the seven swords,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And still they cried: St. George Guienne! until<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their walls were flat as Jericho's of old,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And our rush came, and cut them from the keep.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Alice.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Stop, sir, and tell me if you slew him then,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And where he died, if you can really mean<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That Peter Harpdon, the good knight, is dead?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Squire.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Fair lady, in the base-court:<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Alice.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i12">What base-court?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What do you talk of? Nay, go on, go on;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twas only something gone within my head:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Do you not know, one turns one's head round quick,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And something cracks there with sore pain? go on,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And still look at my eyes.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Squire.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">Almost alone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There in the base-court fought he with his sword,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Using his left hand much, more than the wont<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of most knights now-a-days; our men gave back,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For wheresoever he hit a downright blow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some one fell bleeding, for no plate could hold<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Against the sway of body and great arm;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till he grew tired, and some man (no! not I,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I swear not I, fair lady, as I live!)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thrust at him with a glaive between the knees,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And threw him; down he fell, sword undermost;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Many fell on him, crying out their cries,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tore his sword from him, tore his helm off, and:<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Alice.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yea, slew him: I am much too young to live,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fair God, so let me die!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span>
+<span class="i10">You have done well,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Done all your message gently, pray you go,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our knights will make you cheer; moreover, take<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This bag of franks for your expenses.<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">[<i>The Squire kneels.</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i14">But<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You do not go; still looking at my face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You kneel! what, squire, do you mock me then?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You need not tell me who has set you on,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But tell me only, 'tis a made-up tale.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You are some lover may-be or his friend;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sir, if you loved me once, or your friend loved,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Think, is it not enough that I kneel down<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And kiss your feet? your jest will be right good<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If you give in now; carry it too far,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And 'twill be cruel: not yet? but you weep<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Almost, as though you loved me; love me then,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And go to Heaven by telling all your sport,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I will kiss you then with all my heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon the mouth: O! what can I do then<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To move you?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Squire.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i6">Lady fair, forgive me still!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You know I am so sorry, but my tale<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Is not yet finish'd:<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">So they bound his hands,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And brought him tall and pale to Guesclin's tent,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who, seeing him, leant his head upon his hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And ponder'd somewhile, afterwards, looking up:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fair dame, what shall I say?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Alice.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i12">Yea, I know now,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Good squire, you may go now with my thanks.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Squire.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yet, lady, for your own sake I say this,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yea, for my own sake, too, and Clisson's sake.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When Guesclin told him he must be hanged soon,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Within a while he lifted up his head<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And spoke for his own life; not crouching, though,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As abjectly afraid to die, nor yet<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sullenly brave as many a thief will die,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor yet as one that plays at japes with God:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Few words he spoke; not so much what he said<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Moved us, I think, as, saying it, there played<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Strange tenderness from that big soldier there<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">About his pleading; eagerness to live<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Because folk loved him, and he loved them back,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And many gallant plans unfinish'd now<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">For ever. Clisson's heart, which may God bless!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was moved to pray for him, but all in vain;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wherefore I bring this message:<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">That he waits,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Still loving you, within the little church<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose windows, with the one eye of the light<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Over the altar, every night behold<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The great dim broken walls he strove to keep!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There my Lord Clisson did his burial well.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now, lady, I will go: God give you rest!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Alice.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Thank Clisson from me, squire, and farewell!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And now to keep myself from going mad.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Christ! I have been a many times to church,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, ever since my mother taught me prayers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have used them daily, but to-day I wish<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To pray another way; come face to face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O Christ, that I may clasp your knees and pray<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I know not what; at any rate come now<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From one of many places where you are,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Either in Heaven amid thick angel wings,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or sitting on the altar strange with gems,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or high up in the duskness of the apse;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Let us go, You and I, a long way off,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To the little damp, dark, Poitevin church.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While you sit on the coffin in the dark,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Will I lie down, my face on the bare stone<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Between your feet, and chatter anything<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I have heard long ago. What matters it<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So I may keep you there, your solemn face<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And long hair even-flowing on each side,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Until you love me well enough to speak,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And give me comfort? yea, till o'er your chin,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And cloven red beard the great tears roll down<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In pity for my misery, and I die,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Kissed over by you.<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Eh Guesclin! if I were<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like Countess Mountfort now, that kiss'd the knight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Across the salt sea come to fight for her:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ah! just to go about with many knights,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wherever you went, and somehow on one day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In a thick wood to catch you off your guard,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let you find, you and your some fifty friends,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nothing but arrows wheresoe'er you turn'd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yea, and red crosses, great spears over them;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And so, between a lane of my true men,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">To walk up pale and stern and tall, and with<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My arms on my surcoat, and his therewith,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then to make you kneel, O knight Guesclin;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then: alas! alas! when all is said,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What could I do but let you go again,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Being pitiful woman? I get no revenge,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whatever happens; and I get no comfort:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I am but weak, and cannot move my feet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But as men bid me.<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Strange I do not die.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Suppose this has not happen'd after all?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I will lean out again and watch for news.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I wonder how long I can still feel thus,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As though I watch'd for news, feel as I did<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Just half-an-hour ago, before this news.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How all the street is humming, some men sing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And some men talk; some look up at the house,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then lay their heads together and look grave:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their laughter pains me sorely in the heart;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their thoughtful talking makes my head turn round:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yea, some men sing, what is it then they sing?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Eh? Launcelot, and love and fate and death:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They ought to sing of him who was as wight<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">As Launcelot or Wade, and yet avail'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Just nothing, but to fail and fail and fail,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And so at last to die and leave me here,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Alone and wretched; yea, perhaps they will,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When many years are past, make songs of us:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">God help me, though, truly I never thought<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That I should make a story in this way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A story that his eyes can never see.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">[<i>One sings from outside.</i>]<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4"><i>Therefore be it believed</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i4"><i>Whatsoever he grieved,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i4"><i>When his horse was relieved,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i6"><i>This Launcelot,</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4"><i>Beat down on his knee,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i4"><i>Right valiant was he</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i4"><i>God's body to see,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i6"><i>Though he saw it not.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4"><i>Right valiant to move,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i4"><i>But for his sad love</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i4"><i>The high God above</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i6"><i>Stinted his praise.</i><br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4"><i>Yet so he was glad</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i4"><i>That his son, Lord Galahad,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i4"><i>That high joyaunce had</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i6"><i>All his life-days.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4"><i>Sing we therefore then</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i4"><i>Launcelot's praise again,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i4"><i>For he wan crown&eacute;s ten,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i6"><i>If he wan not twelve.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4"><i>To his death from his birth</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i4"><i>He was mickle of worth,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i4"><i>Lay him in the cold earth,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i6"><i>A long grave ye may delve.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4"><i>Omnes homines benedicite!</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i4"><i>This last fitte ye may see,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i4"><i>All men pray for me</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i4"><i>Who made this history</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i4"><i>Cunning and fairly.</i><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span></p>
+<h2><big>RAPUNZEL</big></h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></p>
+<h2>RAPUNZEL</h2>
+
+<div class="cpoem20">
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">The Prince</span>, <i>being in the wood near the tower, in the evening</i>.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="id0"><span class="dcap">I</span>&nbsp;COULD not even think<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">What made me weep that day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When out of the council-hall<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The courtiers pass'd away,&mdash;<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head7"><span class="smcap">The Witch.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">Rapunzel, Rapunzel,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Let down your hair!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head7"><span class="smcap">Rapunzel.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Is it not true that every day<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She climbeth up the same strange way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her scarlet cloak spread broad and gay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Over my golden hair?<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head7"><span class="smcap">The Prince.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And left me there alone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To think on what they said:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Thou art a king's own son,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">'Tis fit that thou should'st wed.'<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head7"><span class="smcap">The Witch.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">Rapunzel, Rapunzel,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Let down your hair!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head7"><span class="smcap">Rapunzel.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When I undo the knotted mass,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fathoms below the shadows pass<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Over my hair along the grass.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">O my golden hair!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head7"><span class="smcap">The Prince.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I put my armour on,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thinking on what they said:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Thou art a king's own son,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">'Tis fit that thou should'st wed.'<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head7"><span class="smcap">The Witch.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">Rapunzel, Rapunzel,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Let down your hair!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head7"><span class="smcap">Rapunzel.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">See on the marble parapet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I lean my brow, strive to forget<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That fathoms below my hair grows wet<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">With the dew, my golden hair.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head7"><span class="smcap">The Prince.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I rode throughout the town,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Men did not bow the head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though I was the king's own son:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He rides to dream, they said.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head7"><span class="smcap">The Witch.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">Rapunzel, Rapunzel,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Wind up your hair!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head7"><span class="smcap">Rapunzel.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">See on the marble parapet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The faint red stains with tears are wet;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The long years pass, no help comes yet<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">To free my golden hair.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head7"><span class="smcap">The Prince.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For leagues and leagues I rode,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Till hot my armour grew,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Till underneath the leaves<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I felt the evening dew.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head7"><span class="smcap">The Witch.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">Rapunzel, Rapunzel,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Weep through your hair!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head7"><span class="smcap">Rapunzel.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And yet: but I am growing old,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For want of love my heart is cold;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Years pass, the while I loose and fold<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">The fathoms of my hair.<br /></span>
+</div></div></div>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem30" style="margin-top:3em;">
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">The Prince</span>, <i>in the morning</i>.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p>
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="id0"><span class="dcap">I</span>&nbsp;HAVE heard tales of men, who in the night<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Saw paths of stars let down to earth from heaven,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who followed them until they reach'd the light<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Wherein they dwell, whose sins are all forgiven;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But who went backward when they saw the gate<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of diamond, nor dared to enter in;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All their life long they were content to wait,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Purging them patiently of every sin.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I must have had a dream of some such thing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And now am just awaking from that dream;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For even in grey dawn those strange words ring<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Through heart and brain, and still I see that gleam.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For in my dream at sunset-time I lay<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Beneath these beeches, mail and helmet off,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Right full of joy that I had come away<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From court; for I was patient of the scoff<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">That met me always there from day to day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From any knave or coward of them all:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I was content to live that wretched way;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For truly till I left the council-hall,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And rode forth arm'd beneath the burning sun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My gleams of happiness were faint and few,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But then I saw my real life had begun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And that I should be strong quite well I knew.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For I was riding out to look for love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Therefore the birds within the thickets sung,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Even in hot noontide; as I pass'd, above<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The elms o'ersway'd with longing towards me hung.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Now some few fathoms from the place where I<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Lay in the beech-wood, was a tower fair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The marble corners faint against the sky;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And dreamily I wonder'd what lived there:<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Because it seem'd a dwelling for a queen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">No belfry for the swinging of great bells.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No bolt or stone had ever crush'd the green<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Shafts, amber and rose walls, no soot that tells<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Of the Norse torches burning up the roofs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">On the flower-carven marble could I see;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But rather on all sides I saw the proofs<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of a great loneliness that sicken'd me;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Making me feel a doubt that was not fear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Whether my whole life long had been a dream,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I should wake up soon in some place, where<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The piled-up arms of the fighting angels gleam;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Not born as yet, but going to be born,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">No naked baby as I was at first,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But an armed knight, whom fire, hate and scorn<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Could turn from nothing: my heart almost burst<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Beneath the beeches, as I lay a-dreaming,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I tried so hard to read this riddle through,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To catch some golden cord that I saw gleaming<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Like gossamer against the autumn blue.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But while I ponder'd these things, from the wood<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">There came a black-hair'd woman, tall and bold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who strode straight up to where the tower stood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And cried out shrilly words, whereon behold&mdash;<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head7"><span class="smcap">The Witch</span>, <i>from the tower</i>.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i6">Rapunzel, Rapunzel,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Let down your hair!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">The Prince.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ah Christ! it was no dream then, but there stood<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">(She comes again) a maiden passing fair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Against the roof, with face turn'd to the wood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Bearing within her arms waves of her yellow hair.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I read my riddle when I saw her stand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Poor love! her face quite pale against her hair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Praying to all the leagues of empty land<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To save her from the woe she suffer'd there.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">To think! they trod upon her golden hair<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In the witches' sabbaths; it was a delight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For these foul things, while she, with thin feet bare,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Stood on the roof upon the winter night,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">To plait her dear hair into many plaits,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And then, while God's eye look'd upon the thing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In the very likenesses of Devil's bats,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Upon the ends of her long hair to swing.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And now she stood above the parapet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And, spreading out her arms, let her hair flow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beneath that veil her smooth white forehead set<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Upon the marble, more I do not know;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Because before my eyes a film of gold<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Floated, as now it floats. O unknown love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would that I could thy yellow stair behold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">If still thou standest the lead roof above!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head7"><span class="smcap">The Witch</span>, <i>as she passes</i>.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">Is there any who will dare<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">To climb up the yellow stair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Glorious Rapunzel's golden hair?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">The Prince.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If it would please God make you sing again,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I think that I might very sweetly die,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My soul somehow reach heaven in joyous pain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My heavy body on the beech-nuts lie.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Now I remember what a most strange year,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Most strange and awful, in the beechen wood<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I have pass'd now; I still have a faint fear<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">It is a kind of dream not understood.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I have seen no one in this wood except<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The witch and her; have heard no human tones,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But when the witches' revelry has crept<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Between the very jointing of my bones.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ah! I know now; I could not go away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But needs must stop to hear her sing that song<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She always sings at dawning of the day.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I am not happy here, for I am strong,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And every morning do I whet my sword,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Yet Rapunzel still weeps within the tower,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And still God ties me down to the green sward,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Because I cannot see the gold stair floating lower.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head7"><span class="smcap">Rapunzel</span> <i>sings from the tower</i>.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">My mother taught me prayers<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">To say when I had need;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">I have so many cares,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">That I can take no heed<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span>
+<span class="i4">Of many words in them;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">But I remember this:<br /></span>
+<span class="i4"><i>Christ, bring me to thy bliss.</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i4"><i>Mary, maid withouten wem,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i4"><i>Keep me!</i> I am lone, I wis,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Yet besides I have made this<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">By myself: <i>Give me a kiss,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i4"><i>Dear God dwelling up in heaven!</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Also: <i>Send me a true knight,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i4"><i>Lord Christ, with a steel sword, bright,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i4"><i>Broad, and trenchant; yea, and seven</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i4"><i>Spans from hilt to point, O Lord!</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i4"><i>And let the handle of his sword</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i4"><i>Be gold on silver, Lord in heaven!</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i4"><i>Such a sword as I see gleam</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i4"><i>Sometimes, when they let me dream.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i6">Yea, besides, I have made this:<br /></span>
+<span class="i4"><i>Lord, give Mary a dear kiss,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i4"><i>And let gold Michael, who looked down,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i4"><i>When I was there, on Rouen town</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i4"><i>From the spire, bring me that kiss</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i4"><i>On a lily! Lord do this!</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i6">These prayers on the dreadful nights,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span>
+<span class="i4">When the witches plait my hair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And the fearfullest of sights<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">On the earth and in the air,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Will not let me close my eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">I murmur often, mix'd with sighs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">That my weak heart will not hold<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">At some things that I behold.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Nay, not sighs, but quiet groans,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">That swell out the little bones<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Of my bosom; till a trance<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">God sends in middle of that dance,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And I behold the countenance<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Of Michael, and can feel no more<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">The bitter east wind biting sore<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">My naked feet; can see no more<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">The crayfish on the leaden floor,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">That mock with feeler and grim claw.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i6">Yea, often in that happy trance,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Beside the blessed countenance<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Of golden Michael, on the spire<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Glowing all crimson in the fire<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Of sunset, I behold a face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Which sometime, if God give me grace,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">May kiss me in this very place.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+<p class="head7" style="margin-top:4em;"><i>Evening in the tower.</i></p>
+
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Rapunzel.</span></p>
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="id0"><span class="dcap">I</span>T grows half way between the dark and light;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Love, we have been six hours here alone:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I fear that she will come before the night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And if she finds us thus we are undone.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">The Prince.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Nay, draw a little nearer, that your breath<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">May touch my lips, let my cheek feel your arm;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now tell me, did you ever see a death,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or ever see a man take mortal harm?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Rapunzel.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Once came two knights and fought with swords below,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And while they fought I scarce could look at all,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My head swam so; after, a moaning low<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Drew my eyes down; I saw against the wall<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">One knight lean dead, bleeding from head and breast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Yet seem'd it like a line of poppies red<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In the golden twilight, as he took his rest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In the dusky time he scarcely seemed dead.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But the other, on his face, six paces off,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Lay moaning, and the old familiar name<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He mutter'd through the grass, seem'd like a scoff<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of some lost soul remembering his past fame.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">His helm all dinted lay beside him there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The visor-bars were twisted towards the face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The crest, which was a lady very fair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Wrought wonderfully, was shifted from its place.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The shower'd mail-rings on the speedwell lay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Perhaps my eyes were dazzled with the light<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That blazed in the west, yet surely on that day<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Some crimson thing had changed the grass from bright<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Pure green I love so. But the knight who died<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Lay there for days after the other went;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Until one day I heard a voice that cried:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Fair knight, I see Sir Robert we were sent<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">To carry dead or living to the king.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So the knights came and bore him straight away<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On their lance truncheons, such a batter'd thing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">His mother had not known him on that day,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But for his helm-crest, a gold lady fair<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Wrought wonderfully.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">The Prince.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">Ah, they were brothers then,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And often rode together, doubtless where<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The swords were thickest, and were loyal men,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Until they fell in these same evil dreams.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Rapunzel.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Yea, love; but shall we not depart from hence?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The white moon groweth golden fast, and gleams<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Between the aspens stems; I fear, and yet a sense<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Of fluttering victory comes over me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That will not let me fear aright; my heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Feel how it beats, love, strives to get to thee;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I breathe so fast that my lips needs must part;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Your breath swims round my mouth, but let us go.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">The Prince.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">I, Sebald, also, pluck from off the staff<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The crimson banner; let it lie below,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Above it in the wind let grasses laugh.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Now let us go, love, down the winding stair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With fingers intertwined: ay, feel my sword!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I wrought it long ago, with golden hair<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Flowing about the hilts, because a word,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sung by a minstrel old, had set me dreaming<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of a sweet bow'd down face with yellow hair;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Betwixt green leaves I used to see it gleaming,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A half smile on the lips, though lines of care<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Had sunk the cheeks, and made the great eyes hollow;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">What other work in all the world had I,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But through all turns of fate that face to follow?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But wars and business kept me there to die.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O child, I should have slain my brother, too,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My brother, Love, lain moaning in the grass,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Had I not ridden out to look for you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When I had watch'd the gilded courtiers pass<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">From the golden hall. But it is strange your name<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is not the same the minstrel sung of yore;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You call'd it Rapunzel, 'tis not the name.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">See, love, the stems shine through the open door.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center" style="text-indent: -3em; margin-top:4em;"><i>Morning in the woods.</i></p>
+
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Rapunzel.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="id0"><span class="dcap">O</span>&nbsp;LOVE! me and my unknown name you have well won;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The witch's name was Rapunzel: eh! not so sweet?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No! but is this real grass, love, that I tread upon?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">What call they these blue flowers that lean across my feet?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">The Prince.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Dip down your dear face in the dewy grass, O love!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And ever let the sweet slim harebells, tenderly hung,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Kiss both your parted lips; and I will hang above,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And try to sing that song the dreamy harper sung.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><i>He sings.</i></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">'Twixt the sunlight and the shade<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Float up memories of my maid:<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">God, remember Guendolen!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">Gold or gems she did not wear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">But her yellow rippled hair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Like a veil, hid Guendolen!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">'Twixt the sunlight and the shade,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">My rough hands so strangely made,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Folded Golden Guendolen.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">Hands used to grip the sword-hilt hard,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Framed her face, while on the sward<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Tears fell down from Guendolen.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">Guendolen now speaks no word,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Hands fold round about the sword:<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Now no more of Guendolen.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">Only 'twixt the light and shade<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Floating memories of my maid<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Make me pray for Guendolen.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head5"><span class="smcap">Guendolen.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I kiss thee, new-found name! but I will never go:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Your hands need never grip the hammer'd sword again,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But all my golden hair shall ever round you flow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Between the light and shade from Golden Guendolen.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span></div></div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center" style="text-indent: -3em; margin-top:4em;"><i>Afterwards, in the Palace.</i></p>
+
+<div class="cpoem20">
+<p class="head8"><span class="smcap">King Sebald.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="id0"><span class="dcap">I</span>&nbsp;TOOK my armour off,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Put on king's robes of gold;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Over the kirtle green<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The gold fell fold on fold.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head8"><span class="smcap">The Witch</span>, <i>out of hell</i>.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4"><i>Guendolen! Guendolen!</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i4"><i>One lock of hair!</i><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head8"><span class="smcap">Guendolen.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I am so glad, for every day<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He kisses me much the same way<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As in the tower: under the sway<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Of all my golden hair.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head8"><span class="smcap">King Sebald.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">We rode throughout the town,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A gold crown on my head;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Through all the gold-hung streets,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Praise God! the people said.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head8"><span class="smcap">The Witch.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4"><i>Gwendolen! Guendolen!</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i4"><i>Lend me your hair!</i><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head8"><span class="smcap">Guendolen.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Verily, I seem like one<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who, when day is almost done,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Through a thick wood meets the sun<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">That blazes in her hair.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head8"><span class="smcap">King Sebald.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yea, at the palace gates,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Praise God! the great knights said,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For Sebald the high king,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And the lady's golden head.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head8"><span class="smcap">The Witch.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4"><i>Woe is me! Guendolen</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i4"><i>Sweeps back her hair.</i><br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head8"><span class="smcap">Guendolen.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Nothing wretched now, no screams;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I was unhappy once in dreams,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And even now a harsh voice seems<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">To hang about my hair.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="head8"><span class="smcap">The Witch.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="iw0">Woe! that any man could dare<br /></span>
+<span class="iw0">To climb up the yellow stair,<br /></span>
+<span class="iw0">Glorious Guendolen's golden hair.<br /></span>
+</div></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span></p>
+<h2><big>CONCERNING GEFFRAY TESTE NOIRE</big></h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CONCERNING GEFFRAY TESTE NOIRE</h2>
+
+
+
+<div class="cpoem30"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="id0"><span class="dcap">A</span>ND if you meet the Canon of Chimay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As going to Ortaise you well may do,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Greet him from John of Castel Neuf, and say<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">All that I tell you, for all this is true.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">This Geffray Teste Noire was a Gascon thief,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Who, under shadow of the English name,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pilled all such towns and countries as were lief<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To King Charles and St. Denis; thought it blame<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If anything escaped him; so my lord,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The Duke of Berry, sent Sir John Bonne Lance,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And other knights, good players with the sword,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To check this thief, and give the land a chance.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Therefore we set our bastides round the tower<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That Geffray held, the strong thief! like a king,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">High perch'd upon the rock of Ventadour,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Hopelessly strong by Christ! It was mid spring,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When first I joined the little army there<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With ten good spears; Auvergne is hot, each day<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We sweated armed before the barrier;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Good feats of arms were done there often. Eh?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Your brother was slain there? I mind me now,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A right good man-at-arms, God pardon him!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I think 'twas Geffray smote him on the brow<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With some spiked axe, and while he totter'd, dim<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">About the eyes, the spear of Alleyne Roux<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Slipped through his camaille and his throat; well, well!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Alleyne is paid now; your name Alleyne too?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Mary! how strange! but this tale I would tell:<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For spite of all our bastides, damned Blackhead<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Would ride abroad whene'er he chose to ride,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We could not stop him; many a burgher bled<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Dear gold all round his girdle; far and wide<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The villaynes dwelt in utter misery<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">'Twixt us and thief Sir Geffray; hauled this way<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By Sir Bonne Lance at one time; he gone by,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Down comes this Teste Noire on another day.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And therefore they dig up the stone, grind corn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Hew wood, draw water, yea, they lived, in short,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As I said just now, utterly forlorn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Till this our knave and blackhead was out-fought.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So Bonne Lance fretted, thinking of some trap<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Day after day, till on a time he said:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">John of Newcastle, if we have good hap,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">We catch our thief in two days. How? I said.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Why, Sir, to-day he rideth out again,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Hoping to take well certain sumpter mules<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From Carcassonne, going with little train,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Because, forsooth, he thinketh us mere fools;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But if we set an ambush in some wood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He is but dead: so, Sir, take thirty spears<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To Verville forest, if it seem you good.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Then felt I like the horse in Job, who hears<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The dancing trumpet sound, and we went forth;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And my red lion on the spear-head flapped,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As faster than the cool wind we rode north,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Towards the wood of Verville; thus it happed.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">We rode a soft pace on that day, while spies<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Got news about Sir Geffray: the red wine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Under the road-side bush was clear; the flies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The dragon-flies I mind me most, did shine<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In brighter arms than ever I put on;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So: Geffray, said our spies, would pass that way<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Next day at sundown: then he must be won;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And so we enter'd Verville wood next day,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In the afternoon; through it the highway runs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">'Twixt copses of green hazel, very thick,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And underneath, with glimmering of suns,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The primroses are happy; the dews lick<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The soft green moss: 'Put cloths about your arms,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Lest they should glitter; surely they will go<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In a long thin line, watchful for alarms,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With all their carriages of booty; so,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Lay down my pennon in the grass: Lord God.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">What have we lying here? will they be cold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I wonder, being so bare, above the sod,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Instead of under? This was a knight too, fold<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Lying on fold of ancient rusted mail;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">No plate at all, gold rowels to the spurs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And see the quiet gleam of turquoise pale<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Along the ceinture; but the long time blurs<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Even the tinder of his coat to nought,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Except these scraps of leather; see how white<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The skull is, loose within the coif! He fought<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A good fight, maybe, ere he was slain quite.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">No armour on the legs too; strange in faith!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A little skeleton for a knight, though: ah!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This one is bigger, truly without scathe<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">His enemies escaped not! ribs driven out far;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">That must have reach'd the heart, I doubt: how now,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">What say you, Aldovrand, a woman? why?'<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Under the coif a gold wreath on the brow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Yea, see the hair not gone to powder, lie,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Golden, no doubt, once: yea, and very small,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">This for a knight; but for a dame, my lord,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">These loose-hung bones seem shapely still, and tall.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Didst ever see a woman's bones, my Lord?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Often, God help me! I remember when<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I was a simple boy, fifteen years old,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Jacquerie froze up the blood of men<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With their fell deeds, not fit now to be told.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">God help again! we enter'd Beauvais town,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Slaying them fast, whereto I help'd, mere boy<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As I was then; we gentles cut them down,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">These burners and defilers, with great joy.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Reason for that, too, in the great church there<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">These fiends had lit a fire, that soon went out,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">The church at Beauvais being so great and fair:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My father, who was by me, gave a shout<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Between a beast's howl and a woman's scream,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Then, panting, chuckled to me: 'John, look! look!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Count the dames' skeletons!' From some bad dream<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Like a man just awaked, my father shook;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And I, being faint with smelling the burnt bones,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And very hot with fighting down the street,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sick of such a life, fell down, with groans<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My head went weakly nodding to my feet.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&mdash;An arrow had gone through her tender throat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And her right wrist was broken; then I saw<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The reason why she had on that war-coat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Their story came out clear without a flaw;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For when he knew that they were being waylaid,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He threw it over her, yea, hood and all;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whereby he was much hack'd, while they were stay'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">By those their murderers; many an one did fall<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Beneath his arm, no doubt, so that he clear'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Their circle, bore his death-wound out of it;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But as they rode, some archer least afear'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Drew a strong bow, and thereby she was hit.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Still as he rode he knew not she was dead,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thought her but fainted from her broken wrist,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He bound with his great leathern belt: she bled?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Who knows! he bled too, neither was there miss'd<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The beating of her heart, his heart beat well<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For both of them, till here, within this wood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He died scarce sorry; easy this to tell;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">After these years the flowers forget their blood.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">How could it be? never before that day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">However much a soldier I might be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Could I look on a skeleton and say<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I care not for it, shudder not: now see,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Over those bones I sat and pored for hours,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And thought, and dream'd, and still I scarce could see<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">The small white bones that lay upon the flowers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But evermore I saw the lady; she<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">With her dear gentle walking leading in,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">By a chain of silver twined about her wrists,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her loving knight, mounted and arm'd to win<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Great honour for her, fighting in the lists.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O most pale face, that brings such joy and sorrow<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Into men's hearts (yea, too, so piercing sharp<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That joy is, that it marcheth nigh to sorrow<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For ever, like an overwinded harp).<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Your face must hurt me always: pray you now,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Doth it not hurt you too? seemeth some pain<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To hold you always, pain to hold your brow<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So smooth, unwrinkled ever; yea again,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Your long eyes where the lids seem like to drop,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Would you not, lady, were they shut fast, feel<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Far merrier? there so high they will not stop,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">They are most sly to glide forth and to steal<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Into my heart; I kiss their soft lids there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And in green gardens scarce can stop my lips<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">From wandering on your face, but that your hair<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Falls down and tangles me, back my face slips.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Or say your mouth, I saw you drink red wine<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Once at a feast; how slowly it sank in,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As though you fear'd that some wild fate might twine<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Within that cup, and slay you for a sin.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And when you talk your lips do arch and move<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In such wise that a language new I know<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Besides their sound; they quiver, too, with love<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When you are standing silent; know this, too,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I saw you kissing once, like a curved sword<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That bites with all its edge, did your lips lie,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Curled gently, slowly, long time could afford<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For caught-up breathings: like a dying sigh<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">They gather'd up their lines and went away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And still kept twitching with a sort of smile,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As likely to be weeping presently;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Your hands too, how I watch'd them all the while!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Cry out St. Peter now, quoth Aldovrand;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I cried, St. Peter! broke out from the wood<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With all my spears; we met them hand to hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And shortly slew them; natheless, by the rood,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">We caught not Blackhead then, or any day;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Months after that he died at last in bed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From a wound pick'd up at a barrier-fray;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That same year's end a steel bolt in the head,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And much bad living killed Teste Noire at last;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">John Froissart knoweth he is dead by now,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No doubt, but knoweth not this tale just past;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Perchance then you can tell him what I show.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In my new castle, down beside the Eure,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">There is a little chapel of squared stone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Painted inside and out; in green nook pure<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">There did I lay them, every wearied bone;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And over it they lay, with stone-white hands<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Clasped fast together, hair made bright with gold;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This Jaques Picard, known through many lands,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Wrought cunningly; he's dead now: I am old.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span></p>
+<h2>A GOOD KNIGHT IN PRISON</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem25">
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Sir Guy</span>, <i>being in the court of a Pagan castle</i>.</p>
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="id2"><span class="dcap">T</span>HIS castle where I dwell, it stands<br /></span>
+<span class="id2">A long way off from Christian lands,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A long way off my lady's hands,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A long way off the aspen trees,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And murmur of the lime-tree bees.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">But down the Valley of the Rose<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My lady often hawking goes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Heavy of cheer; oft turns behind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Leaning towards the western wind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Because it bringeth to her mind<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sad whisperings of happy times,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The face of him who sings these rhymes.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">King Guilbert rides beside her there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Bends low and calls her very fair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And strives, by pulling down his hair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To hide from my dear lady's ken<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The grisly gash I gave him, when<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I cut him down at Camelot;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">However he strives, he hides it not,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That tourney will not be forgot,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Besides, it is King Guilbert's lot,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Whatever he says she answers not.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">Now tell me, you that are in love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From the king's son to the wood-dove,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Which is the better, he or I?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">For this king means that I should die<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In this lone Pagan castle, where<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The flowers droop in the bad air<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">On the September evening.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">Look, now I take mine ease and sing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Counting as but a little thing<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The foolish spite of a bad king.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">For these vile things that hem me in,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">These Pagan beasts who live in sin,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The sickly flowers pale and wan,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The grim blue-bearded castellan,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The stanchions half worn-out with rust,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Whereto their banner vile they trust:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Why, all these things I hold them just<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As dragons in a missal book,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Wherein, whenever we may look,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">We see no horror, yea delight<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">We have, the colours are so bright;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Likewise we note the specks of white,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And the great plates of burnish'd gold.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">Just so this Pagan castle old,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And everything I can see there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sick-pining in the marshland air,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I note: I will go over now,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Like one who paints with knitted brow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The flowers and all things one by one,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From the snail on the wall to the setting sun.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">Four great walls, and a little one<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That leads down to the barbican,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span>
+<span class="i2">Which walls with many spears they man,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When news comes to the castellan<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of Launcelot being in the land.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">And as I sit here, close at hand<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Four spikes of sad sick sunflowers stand;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The castellan with a long wand<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Cuts down their leaves as he goes by,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Ponderingly, with screw'd-up eye,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And fingers twisted in his beard.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nay, was it a knight's shout I heard?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I have a hope makes me afeard:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">It cannot be, but if some dream<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Just for a minute made me deem<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I saw among the flowers there<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My lady's face with long red hair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Pale, ivory-colour'd dear face come,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As I was wont to see her some<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Fading September afternoon,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And kiss me, saying nothing, soon<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To leave me by myself again;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Could I get this by longing? vain!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">The castellan is gone: I see<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span>
+<span class="i2">On one broad yellow flower a bee<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Drunk with much honey.<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">Christ! again,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Some distant knight's voice brings me pain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I thought I had forgot to feel,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I never heard the blissful steel<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">These ten years past; year after year,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Through all my hopeless sojourn here,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">No Christian pennon has been near.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Laus Deo! the dragging wind draws on<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Over the marshes, battle won,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Knights' shouts, and axes hammering;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Yea, quicker now the dint and ring<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of flying hoofs; ah, castellan,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When they come back count man for man,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Say whom you miss.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">The Pagans</span>, <i>from the battlements</i>.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">Mahound to aid!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Why flee ye so like men dismay'd?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">The Pagans</span>, <i>from without</i>.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Nay, haste! for here is Launcelot,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Who follows quick upon us, hot<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And shouting with his men-at-arms.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Sir Guy.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Also the Pagans raise alarms,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And ring the bells for fear; at last<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My prison walls will be well past.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Sir Launcelot</span>, <i>from outside</i>.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Ho! in the name of the Trinity,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Let down the drawbridge quick to me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And open doors, that I may see<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Guy the good knight!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">The Pagans</span>, <i>from the battlements</i>.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">Nay, Launcelot,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With mere big words ye win us not.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Sir Launcelot.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Bid Miles bring up la perriere,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And archers clear the vile walls there.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Bring back the notches to the ear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Shoot well together! God to aid!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">These miscreants will be well paid.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Hurrah! all goes together; Miles<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is good to win my lady's smiles<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For his good shooting: Launcelot!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">On knights apace! this game is hot!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Sir Guy</span> <i>sayeth afterwards</i>.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">I said, I go to meet her now,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And saying so, I felt a blow<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From some clench'd hand across my brow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And fell down on the sunflowers<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Just as a hammering smote my ears;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">After which this I felt in sooth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My bare hands throttling without ruth<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The hairy-throated castellan;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Then a grim fight with those that ran<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To slay me, while I shouted: God<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For the Lady Mary! deep I trod<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That evening in my own red blood;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nevertheless so stiff I stood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That when the knights burst the old wood<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of the castle-doors, I was not dead.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">I kiss the Lady Mary's head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Her lips, and her hair golden red,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Because to-day we have been wed.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span></p>
+<h2>OLD LOVE</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem25"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="id0"><span class="dcap">Y</span>OU must be very old, Sir Giles,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I said; he said: Yea, very old!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whereat the mournfullest of smiles<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Creased his dry skin with many a fold.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">They hammer'd out my basnet point<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Into a round salade, he said,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The basnet being quite out of joint,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Natheless the salade rasps my head.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He gazed at the great fire awhile:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And you are getting old, Sir John;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(He said this with that cunning smile<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That was most sad) we both wear on;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Knights come to court and look at me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With eyebrows up; except my lord,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And my dear lady, none I see<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That know the ways of my old sword.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">(My lady! at that word no pang<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Stopp'd all my blood). But tell me, John,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is it quite true that Pagans hang<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So thick about the east, that on<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The eastern sea no Venice flag<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Can fly unpaid for? True, I said,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in such way the miscreants drag<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Christ's cross upon the ground, I dread<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">That Constantine must fall this year.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Within my heart, these things are small;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This is not small, that things outwear<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I thought were made for ever, yea, all,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">All things go soon or late, I said.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I saw the duke in court next day;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Just as before, his grand great head<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Above his gold robes dreaming lay,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Only his face was paler; there<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I saw his duchess sit by him;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And she, she was changed more; her hair<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Before my eyes that used to swim,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And make me dizzy with great bliss<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Once, when I used to watch her sit,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her hair is bright still, yet it is<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As though some dust were thrown on it.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Her eyes are shallower, as though<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Some grey glass were behind; her brow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And cheeks the straining bones show through,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Are not so good for kissing now.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Her lips are drier now she is<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A great duke's wife these many years,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They will not shudder with a kiss<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As once they did, being moist with tears.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Also her hands have lost that way<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of clinging that they used to have;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They look'd quite easy, as they lay<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Upon the silken cushions brave<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">With broidery of the apples green<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My Lord Duke bears upon his shield.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her face, alas! that I have seen<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Look fresher than an April field,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">This is all gone now; gone also<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Her tender walking; when she walks<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She is most queenly I well know,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And she is fair still. As the stalks<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Of faded summer-lilies are,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So is she grown now unto me<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This spring-time, when the flowers star<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The meadows, birds sing wonderfully.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I warrant once she used to cling<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">About his neck, and kiss'd him so,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then his coming step would ring<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Joy-bells for her; some time ago.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ah! sometimes like an idle dream<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That hinders true life overmuch,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sometimes like a lost heaven, these seem.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">This love is not so hard to smutch.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE GILLIFLOWER OF GOLD</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem20"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="id0"><span class="dcap">A</span> GOLDEN gilliflower to-day<br /></span>
+<span class="id0">I wore upon my helm alway,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And won the prize of this tourney.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Hah! hah! la belle jaune girofl&eacute;e.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">However well Sir Giles might sit,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His sun was weak to wither it,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lord Miles's blood was dew on it:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Hah! hah! la belle jaune girofl&eacute;e.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Although my spear in splinters flew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From John's steel-coat, my eye was true;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I wheel'd about, and cried for you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Hah! hah! la belle jaune girofl&eacute;e.</i><br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yea, do not doubt my heart was good,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though my sword flew like rotten wood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To shout, although I scarcely stood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Hah! hah! la belle jaune girofl&eacute;e.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">My hand was steady too, to take<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My axe from round my neck, and break<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">John's steel-coat up for my love's sake.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Hah! hah! la belle jaune girofl&eacute;e.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When I stood in my tent again,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Arming afresh, I felt a pain<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Take hold of me, I was so fain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Hah! hah! la belle jaune girofl&eacute;e.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">To hear: <i>Honneur aux fils des preux!</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Right in my ears again, and shew<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The gilliflower blossom'd new.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Hah! hah! la belle jaune girofl&eacute;e.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The Sieur Guillaume against me came,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His tabard bore three points of flame<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From a red heart: with little blame,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Hah! hah! la belle jaune girofl&eacute;e.</i><br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Our tough spears crackled up like straw;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He was the first to turn and draw<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His sword, that had nor speck nor flaw;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Hah! hah! la belle jaune girofl&eacute;e.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But I felt weaker than a maid,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And my brain, dizzied and afraid,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Within my helm a fierce tune play'd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Hah! hah! la belle jaune girofl&eacute;e.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Until I thought of your dear head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bow'd to the gilliflower bed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The yellow flowers stain'd with red;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Hah! hah! la belle jaune girofl&eacute;e.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Crash! how the swords met: <i>girofl&eacute;e!</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The fierce tune in my helm would play,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>La belle! la belle! jaune girofl&eacute;e!</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Hah! hah! la belle jaune girofl&eacute;e.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Once more the great swords met again:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"<i>La belle! la belle!</i>" but who fell then?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Le Sieur Guillaume, who struck down ten;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Hah! hah! la belle jaune girofl&eacute;e.</i><br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And as with mazed and unarm'd face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Toward my own crown and the Queen's place,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They led me at a gentle pace.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Hah! hah! la belle jaune girofl&eacute;e.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I almost saw your quiet head<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bow'd o'er the gilliflower bed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The yellow flowers stain'd with red.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Hah! hah! la belle jaune girofl&eacute;e.</i><br /></span>
+</div></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span></p>
+<h2>SHAMEFUL DEATH</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem22"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="id0"><span class="dcap">T</span>HERE were four of us about that bed;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The mass-priest knelt at the side,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I and his mother stood at the head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Over his feet lay the bride;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We were quite sure that he was dead,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Though his eyes were open wide.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He did not die in the night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He did not die in the day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But in the morning twilight<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">His spirit pass'd away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When neither sun nor moon was bright,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And the trees were merely grey.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He was not slain with the sword,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Knight's axe, or the knightly spear,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet spoke he never a word<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">After he came in here;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I cut away the cord<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From the neck of my brother dear.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He did not strike one blow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For the recreants came behind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In a place where the hornbeams grow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A path right hard to find,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For the hornbeam boughs swing so,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That the twilight makes it blind.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">They lighted a great torch then,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When his arms were pinion'd fast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sir John the knight of the Fen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sir Guy of the Dolorous Blast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With knights threescore and ten,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Hung brave Lord Hugh at last.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I am threescore and ten,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And my hair is all turn'd grey,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But I met Sir John of the Fen<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Long ago on a summer day,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And am glad to think of the moment when<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I took his life away.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I am threescore and ten,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And my strength is mostly pass'd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But long ago I and my men,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When the sky was overcast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the smoke roll'd over the reeds of the fen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Slew Guy of the Dolorous Blast.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And now, knights all of you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I pray you pray for Sir Hugh,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A good knight and a true,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And for Alice, his wife, pray too.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE EVE OF CRECY</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem25"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="id0"><span class="dcap">G</span>OLD on her head, and gold on her feet,<br /></span>
+<span class="id0">And gold where the hems of her kirtle meet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And a golden girdle round my sweet;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Margaret's maids are fair to see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Freshly dress'd and pleasantly;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Margaret's hair falls down to her knee;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If I were rich I would kiss her feet;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I would kiss the place where the gold hems meet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the golden girdle round my sweet:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.</i><br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ah me! I have never touch'd her hand;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When the arriere-ban goes through the land,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Six basnets under my pennon stand;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And many an one grins under his hood:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sir Lambert du Bois, with all his men good,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Has neither food nor firewood;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If I were rich I would kiss her feet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the golden girdle of my sweet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And thereabouts where the gold hems meet;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yet even now it is good to think,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While my few poor varlets grumble and drink<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In my desolate hall, where the fires sink,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Of Margaret sitting glorious there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In glory of gold and glory of hair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And glory of glorious face most fair;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.</i><br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Likewise to-night I make good cheer,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Because this battle draweth near:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For what have I to lose or fear?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For, look you, my horse is good to prance<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A right fair measure in this war-dance,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Before the eyes of Philip of France;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And sometime it may hap, perdie,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While my new towers stand up three and three,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And my hall gets painted fair to see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">That folks may say: Times change, by the rood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For Lambert, banneret of the wood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Has heaps of food and firewood;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite;</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And wonderful eyes, too, under the hood<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of a damsel of right noble blood.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">St. Ives, for Lambert of the Wood!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.</i><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE JUDGMENT OF GOD</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem30"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="id0"><span class="dcap">S</span>WERVE to the left, son Roger, he said,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When you catch his eyes through the helmet-slit,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Swerve to the left, then out at his head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And the Lord God give you joy of it!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The blue owls on my father's hood<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Were a little dimm'd as I turn'd away;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This giving up of blood for blood<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Will finish here somehow to-day.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So, when I walk'd out from the tent,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Their howling almost blinded me;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet for all that I was not bent<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">By any shame. Hard by, the sea<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Made a noise like the aspens where<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">We did that wrong, but now the place<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is very pleasant, and the air<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Blows cool on any passer's face.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And all the wrong is gather'd now<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Into the circle of these lists:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yea, howl out, butchers! tell me how<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">His hands were cut off at the wrists;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And how Lord Roger bore his face<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A league above his spear-point, high<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Above the owls, to that strong place<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Among the waters; yea, yea, cry:<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">What a brave champion we have got!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sir Oliver, the flower of all<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Hainault knights! The day being hot,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He sat beneath a broad white pall,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">White linen over all his steel;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">What a good knight he look'd! his sword<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Laid thwart his knees; he liked to feel<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Its steadfast edge clear as his word.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And he look'd solemn; how his love<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Smiled whitely on him, sick with fear!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How all the ladies up above<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Twisted their pretty hands! so near<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The fighting was: Ellayne! Ellayne!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">They cannot love like you can, who<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would burn your hands off, if that pain<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Could win a kiss; am I not true<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">To you for ever? therefore I<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Do not fear death or anything;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If I should limp home wounded, why,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">While I lay sick you would but sing,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And soothe me into quiet sleep.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">If they spat on the recreant knight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Threw stones at him, and cursed him deep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Why then: what then? your hand would light<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So gently on his drawn-up face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And you would kiss him, and in soft<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cool scented clothes would lap him, pace<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The quiet room and weep oft, oft<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Would turn and smile, and brush his cheek<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With your sweet chin and mouth; and in<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The order'd garden you would seek<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The biggest roses: any sin.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And these say: No more now my knight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or God's knight any longer: you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Being than they so much more white,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So much more pure and good and true,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Will cling to me for ever; there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is not that wrong turn'd right at last<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Through all these years, and I wash'd clean?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Say, yea, Ellayne; the time is past,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Since on that Christmas-day last year<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Up to your feet the fire crept,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the smoke through the brown leaves sere<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Blinded your dear eyes that you wept;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Was it not I that caught you then,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And kiss'd you on the saddle-bow?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Did not the blue owl mark the men<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Whose spears stood like the corn a-row?<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">This Oliver is a right good knight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And must needs beat me, as I fear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unless I catch him in the fight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My father's crafty way: John, here!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Bring up the men from the south gate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To help me if I fall or win,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For even if I beat, their hate<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Will grow to more than this mere grin.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE LITTLE TOWER</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem25"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="id0"><span class="dcap">U</span>P and away through the drifting rain!<br /></span>
+<span class="id0">Let us ride to the Little Tower again,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Up and away from the council board!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Do on the hauberk, gird on the sword.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The king is blind with gnashing his teeth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Change gilded scabbard to leather sheath:<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Though our arms are wet with the slanting rain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This is joy to ride to my love again:<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I laugh in his face when he bids me yield;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who knows one field from the other field,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For the grey rain driveth all astray?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which way through the floods, good carle, I pray<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The left side yet! the left side yet!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till your hand strikes on the bridge parapet.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yea so: the causeway holdeth good<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Under the water? Hard as wood,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Right away to the uplands; speed, good knight!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Seven hours yet before the light.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Shake the wet off on the upland road;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My tabard has grown a heavy load.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">What matter? up and down hill after hill;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dead grey night for five hours still.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The hill-road droppeth lower again,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lower, down to the poplar plain.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">No furlong farther for us to-night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Little Tower draweth in sight;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">They are ringing the bells, and the torches glare,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Therefore the roofs of wet slate stare.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There she stands, and her yellow hair slantingly<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Drifts the same way that the rain goes by.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Who will be faithful to us to-day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With little but hard glaive-strokes for pay?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The grim king fumes at the council-board:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Three more days, and then the sword;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Three more days, and my sword through his head;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And above his white brows, pale and dead,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A paper crown on the top of the spire;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And for her the stake and the witches' fire.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Therefore though it be long ere day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Take axe and pick and spade, I pray.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Break the dams down all over the plain:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">God send us three more days such rain!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Block all the upland roads with trees;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Little Tower with no great ease<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Is won, I warrant; bid them bring<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Much sheep and oxen, everything<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The spits are wont to turn with; wine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And wheaten bread, that we may dine<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In plenty each day of the siege.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Good friends, ye know me no hard liege;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">My lady is right fair, see ye!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pray God to keep you frank and free.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Love Isabeau, keep goodly cheer;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Little Tower will stand well here<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Many a year when we are dead,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And over it our green and red,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Barred with the Lady's golden head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From mere old age when we are dead.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE SAILING OF THE SWORD</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem22"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="id0"><span class="dcap">A</span>CROSS the empty garden-beds,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>When the Sword went out to sea,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I scarcely saw my sisters' heads<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Bowed each beside a tree.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I could not see the castle leads,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>When the Sword went out to sea,</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Alicia wore a scarlet gown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>When the Sword went out to sea,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But Ursula's was russet brown:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For the mist we could not see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The scarlet roofs of the good town,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>When the Sword went out to sea.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Green holly in Alicia's hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>When the Sword went out to sea;</i><br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">With sere oak-leaves did Ursula stand;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">O! yet alas for me!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I did but bear a peel'd white wand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>When the Sword went out to sea.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O, russet brown and scarlet bright,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>When the Sword went out to sea,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My sisters wore; I wore but white:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Red, brown, and white, are three;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Three damozels; each had a knight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>When the Sword went out to sea.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sir Robert shouted loud, and said:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>When the Sword went out to sea,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Alicia, while I see thy head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">What shall I bring for thee?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O, my sweet Lord, a ruby red:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>The Sword went out to sea.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sir Miles said, while the sails hung down,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>When the Sword went out to sea,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O, Ursula! while I see the town,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">What shall I bring for thee?<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Dear knight, bring back a falcon brown:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>The Sword went out to sea.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But my Roland, no word he said<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>When the Sword went out to sea,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But only turn'd away his head;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A quick shriek came from me:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Come back, dear lord, to your white maid.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>The Sword went out to sea.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The hot sun bit the garden-beds<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>When the Sword came back from sea;</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beneath an apple-tree our heads<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Stretched out toward the sea;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Grey gleam'd the thirsty castle-leads,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>When the Sword came back from sea.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Lord Robert brought a ruby red,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>When the Sword came back from sea;</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He kissed Alicia on the head:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I am come back to thee;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Tis time, sweet love, that we were wed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Now the Sword is back from sea!</i><br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sir Miles he bore a falcon brown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>When the Sword came back from sea;</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His arms went round tall Ursula's gown:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">What joy, O love, but thee?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let us be wed in the good town,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Now the Sword is back from sea!</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">My heart grew sick, no more afraid,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>When the Sword came back from sea;</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon the deck a tall white maid<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sat on Lord Roland's knee;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His chin was press'd upon her head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>When the Sword came back from sea!</i><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span></p>
+<h2>SPELL-BOUND</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem22"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="id0"><span class="dcap">H</span>OW weary is it none can tell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">How dismally the days go by!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I hear the tinkling of the bell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I see the cross against the sky.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The year wears round to Autumn-tide,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Yet comes no reaper to the corn;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The golden land is like a bride<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When first she knows herself forlorn;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She sits and weeps with all her hair<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Laid downward over tender hands;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For stain&egrave;d silk she hath no care,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">No care for broken ivory wands;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The silver cups beside her stand;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The golden stars on the blue roof<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet glitter, though against her hand<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">His cold sword presses for a proof<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He is not dead, but gone away.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">How many hours did she wait<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For me, I wonder? Till the day<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Had faded wholly, and the gate<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Clanged to behind returning knights?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I wonder did she raise her head<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And go away, fleeing the lights;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And lay the samite on her bed,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The wedding samite strewn with pearls:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Then sit with hands laid on her knees,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shuddering at half-heard sound of girls<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That chatter outside in the breeze?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I wonder did her poor heart throb<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">At distant tramp of coming knight?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How often did the choking sob<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Raise up her head and lips? The light,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Did it come on her unawares,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And drag her sternly down before<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">People who loved her not? in prayers<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Did she say one name and no more?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And once, all songs they ever sung,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">All tales they ever told to me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This only burden through them rung:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>O golden love that waitest me!</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><i>The days pass on, pass on apace,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Sometimes I have a little rest</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>In fairest dreams, when on thy face</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>My lips lie, or thy hands are prest</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><i>About my forehead, and thy lips</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Draw near and nearer to mine own;</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>But when the vision from me slips,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>In colourless dawn I lie and moan,</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><i>And wander forth with fever'd blood,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>That makes me start at little things,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>The blackbird screaming from the wood,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>The sudden whirr of pheasants' wings.</i><br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><i>O dearest, scarcely seen by me!</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But when that wild time had gone by,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in these arms I folded thee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Who ever thought those days could die?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yet now I wait, and you wait too,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For what perchance may never come;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You think I have forgotten you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That I grew tired and went home.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But what if some day as I stood<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Against the wall with strain&egrave;d hands,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And turn'd my face toward the wood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Away from all the golden lands;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And saw you come with tired feet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And pale face thin and wan with care,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And stain&egrave;d raiment no more neat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The white dust lying on your hair:<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then I should say, I could not come;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">This land was my wide prison, dear;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I could not choose but go; at home<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">There is a wizard whom I fear:<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He bound me round with silken chains<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I could not break; he set me here<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Above the golden-waving plains,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where never reaper cometh near.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And you have brought me my good sword,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Wherewith in happy days of old<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I won you well from knight and lord;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My heart upswells and I grow bold.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But I shall die unless you stand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Half lying now, you are so weak,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Within my arms, unless your hand<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Pass to and fro across my cheek.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE WIND</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem35"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="id0"><span class="dcap">A</span>H! no, no, it is nothing, surely nothing at all,<br /></span>
+<span class="id0">Only the wild-going wind round by the garden-wall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For the dawn just now is breaking, the wind beginning to fall.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2"><i>Wind, wind! thou art sad, art thou kind?</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Wind, wind, unhappy! thou art blind,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Yet still thou wanderest the lily-seed to find.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So I will sit, and think and think of the days gone by,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Never moving my chair for fear the dogs should cry,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Making no noise at all while the flambeau burns awry.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For my chair is heavy and carved, and with sweeping green behind<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It is hung, and the dragons thereon grin out in the gusts of the wind;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On its folds an orange lies, with a deep gash cut in the rind.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2"><i>Wind, wind! thou art sad, art thou kind?</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Wind, wind, unhappy! thou art blind,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>still thou wanderest the lily-seed to find.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If I move my chair it will scream, and the orange will roll out afar,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the faint yellow juice ooze out like blood from a wizard's jar;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the dogs will howl for those who went last month to the war.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2"><i>Wind, wind! thou art sad, art thou kind?</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Wind, wind, unhappy! thou art blind,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Yet still thou wanderest the lily-seed to find.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So I will sit and think of love that is over and past,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O, so long ago! Yes, I will be quiet at last:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whether I like it or not, a grim half-slumber is cast<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Over my worn old brains, that touches the roots of my heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And above my half-shut eyes, the blue roof 'gins to part,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And show the blue spring sky, till I am ready to start<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">From out of the green-hung chair; but something keeps me still,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I fall in a dream that I walk'd with her on the side of a hill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dotted, for was it not spring? with tufts of the daffodil.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2"><i>Wind, wind! thou art sad, art thou kind?</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Wind, wind, unhappy! thou art blind,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Yet still thou wanderest the lily-seed to find.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And Margaret as she walk'd held a painted book in her hand;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her finger kept the place; I caught her, we both did stand<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Face to face, on the top of the highest hill in the land.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2"><i>Wind, wind! thou art sad, art thou kind?</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Wind, wind, unhappy! thou art blind,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Yet still thou wanderest the lily-seed to find.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I held to her long bare arms, but she shudder'd away from me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While the flush went out of her face as her head fell back on a tree,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And a spasm caught her mouth, fearful for me to see;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And still I held to her arms till her shoulder touched my mail,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Weeping she totter'd forward, so glad that I should prevail,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And her hair went over my robe, like a gold flag over a sail.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2"><i>Wind, wind! thou art sad, art thou kind?</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Wind, wind, unhappy! thou art blind,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Yet still thou wanderest the lily-seed to find.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I kiss'd her hard by the ear, and she kiss'd me on the brow,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And then lay down on the grass, where the mark on the moss is now,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And spread her arms out wide while I went down below.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2"><i>Wind, wind! thou art sad, art thou kind?</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Wind, wind, unhappy! thou art blind,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Yet still thou wanderest the lily-seed to find.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And then I walk'd for a space to and fro on the side of the hill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till I gather'd and held in my arms great sheaves of the daffodil,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when I came again my Margaret lay there still.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I piled them high and high above her heaving breast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How they were caught and held in her loose ungirded vest!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But one beneath her arm died, happy so to be prest!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2"><i>Wind, wind! thou art sad, art thou kind?</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Wind, wind, unhappy! thou art blind,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Yet still thou wanderest the lily-seed to find.</i><br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Again I turn'd my back and went away for an hour;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She said no word when I came again, so, flower by flower,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I counted the daffodils over, and cast them languidly lower.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2"><i>Wind, wind! thou art sad, art thou kind?</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Wind, wind, unhappy! thou art blind,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Yet still thou wanderest the lily-seed to find.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">My dry hands shook and shook as the green gown show'd again,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Clear'd from the yellow flowers, and I grew hollow with pain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And on to us both there fell from the sun-shower drops of rain.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2"><i>Wind, wind! thou art sad, art thou kind?</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Wind, wind, unhappy! thou art blind,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Yet still thou wanderest the lily-seed to find.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Alas! alas! there was blood on the very quiet breast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Blood lay in the many folds of the loose ungirded vest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Blood lay upon her arm where the flower had been prest.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I shriek'd and leapt from my chair, and the orange roll'd out afar,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The faint yellow juice oozed out like blood from a wizard's jar;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then in march'd the ghosts of those that had gone to the war.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I knew them by the arms that I was used to paint<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon their long thin shields; but the colours were all grown faint,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And faint upon their banner was Olaf, king and saint.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2"><i>Wind, wind! thou art sad, art thou kind?</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Wind, wind, unhappy! thou art blind,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Yet still thou wanderest the lily-seed to find.</i><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE BLUE CLOSET</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem30">
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">The Damozels.</span></p>
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="id4"><span class="dcap">L</span>ADY Alice, lady Louise,<br /></span>
+<span class="id4">Between the wash of the tumbling seas<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">We are ready to sing, if so ye please;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">So lay your long hands on the keys;<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">Sing, <i>Laudate pueri</i>.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2"><i>And ever the great bell overhead</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Boom'd in the wind a knell for the dead,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Though no one toll'd it, a knell for the dead.</i><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Lady Louise.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Sister, let the measure swell<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Not too loud; for you sing not well<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">If you drown the faint boom of the bell;<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">He is weary, so am I.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2"><i>And ever the chevron overhead</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Flapped on the banner of the dead;</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>(Was he asleep, or was he dead?)</i><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Lady Alice.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Alice the Queen, and Louise the Queen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Two damozels wearing purple and green,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Four lone ladies dwelling here<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From day to day and year to year;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And there is none to let us go;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To break the locks of the doors below,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or shovel away the heaped-up snow;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And when we die no man will know<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That we are dead; but they give us leave,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Once every year on Christmas-eve,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To sing in the Closet Blue one song;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And we should be so long, so long,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">If we dared, in singing; for dream on dream,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">They float on in a happy stream;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Float from the gold strings, float from the keys,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Float from the open'd lips of Louise;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But, alas! the sea-salt oozes through<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The chinks of the tiles of the Closet Blue;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>And ever the great bell overhead</i><br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Booms in the wind a knell for the dead,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>The wind plays on it a knell for the dead.</i><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="center"><i>They sing all together.</i></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">How long ago was it, how long ago,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He came to this tower with hands full of snow?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Kneel down, O love Louise, kneel down! he said,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sprinkled the dusty snow over my head.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He watch'd the snow melting, it ran through my hair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ran over my shoulders, white shoulders and bare.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I cannot weep for thee, poor love Louise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For my tears are all hidden deep under the seas;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In a gold and blue casket she keeps all my tears,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But my eyes are no longer blue, as in old years;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yea, they grow grey with time, grow small and dry,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I am so feeble now, would I might die.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2"><i>And in truth the great bell overhead</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Left off his pealing for the dead,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Perchance, because the wind was dead.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Will he come back again, or is he dead?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O! is he sleeping, my scarf round his head?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Or did they strangle him as he lay there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With the long scarlet scarf I used to wear?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Only I pray thee, Lord, let him come here!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Both his soul and his body to me are most dear.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Dear Lord, that loves me, I wait to receive<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Either body or spirit this wild Christmas-eve.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2"><i>Through the floor shot up a lily red,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>With a patch of earth from the land of the dead,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>For he was strong in the land of the dead.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">What matter that his cheeks were pale,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">His kind kiss'd lips all grey?<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">O, love Louise, have you waited long?<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">O, my lord Arthur, yea.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">What if his hair that brush'd her cheek<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Was stiff with frozen rime?<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">His eyes were grown quite blue again,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">As in the happy time.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">O, love Louise, this is the key<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Of the happy golden land!<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">O, sisters, cross the bridge with me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">My eyes are full of sand.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">What matter that I cannot see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">If ye take me by the hand?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2"><i>And ever the great bell overhead,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>And the tumbling seas mourned for the dead;</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>For their song ceased, and they were dead.</i><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE TUNE OF SEVEN TOWERS</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem25"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="id2"><span class="dcap">N</span>O one goes there now:<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">For what is left to fetch away<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From the desolate battlements all arow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And the lead roof heavy and grey?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>Therefore, said fair Yoland of the flowers,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>This is the tune of Seven Towers.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">No one walks there now;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Except in the white moonlight<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The white ghosts walk in a row;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">If one could see it, an awful sight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>Listen! said fair Yoland of the flowers,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>This is the tune of Seven Towers.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">But none can see them now,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Though they sit by the side of the moat,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span>
+<span class="i2">Feet half in the water, there in a row,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Long hair in the wind afloat.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>Therefore, said fair Yoland of the flowers,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>This is the tune of Seven Towers.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">If any will go to it now,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">He must go to it all alone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Its gates will not open to any row<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Of glittering spears: will <i>you</i> go alone?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>Listen! said fair Yoland of the flowers,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>This is the tune of Seven Towers.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">By my love go there now,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">To fetch me my coif away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My coif and my kirtle, with pearls arow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Oliver, go to-day!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>Therefore, said fair Yoland of the flowers,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>This is the tune of Seven Towers.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">I am unhappy now,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">I cannot tell you why;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">If you go, the priests and I in a row<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Will pray that you may not die.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>Listen! said fair Yoland of the flowers,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>This is the tune of Seven Towers.</i><br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">If you will go for me now,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">I will kiss your mouth at last;<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">[<i>She sayeth inwardly.</i>]<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">(<i>The graves stand grey in a row.</i>)<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Oliver, hold me fast!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>Therefore, said fair Yoland of the flowers,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>This is the tune of Seven Towers.</i><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span></p>
+<h2>GOLDEN WINGS</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem25"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="id0"><span class="dcap">M</span>IDWAYS of a wall&egrave;d garden,<br /></span>
+<span class="id2">In the happy poplar land,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Did an ancient castle stand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With an old knight for a warden.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Many scarlet bricks there were<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In its walls, and old grey stone;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Over which red apples shone<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At the right time of the year.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">On the bricks the green moss grew.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Yellow lichen on the stone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Over which red apples shone;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Little war that castle knew.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Deep green water fill'd the moat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Each side had a red-brick lip,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Green and mossy with the drip<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of dew and rain; there was a boat<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Of carven wood, with hangings green<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">About the stern; it was great bliss<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For lovers to sit there and kiss<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In the hot summer noons, not seen.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Across the moat the fresh west wind<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In very little ripples went;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The way the heavy aspens bent<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Towards it, was a thing to mind.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The painted drawbridge over it<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Went up and down with gilded chains,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">'Twas pleasant in the summer rains<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Within the bridge-house there to sit.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There were five swans that ne'er did eat<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The water-weeds, for ladies came<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Each day, and young knights did the same,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And gave them cakes and bread for meat.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">They had a house of painted wood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A red roof gold-spiked over it,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Wherein upon their eggs to sit<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Week after week; no drop of blood,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Drawn from men's bodies by sword-blows,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Came ever there, or any tear;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Most certainly from year to year<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twas pleasant as a Provence rose.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The banners seem'd quite full of ease,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That over the turret-roofs hung down;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The battlements could get no frown<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From the flower-moulded cornices.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Who walked in that garden there?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Miles and Giles and Isabeau,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Tall Jehane du Castel beau,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Alice of the golden hair,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Big Sir Gervaise, the good knight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Fair Ellayne le Violet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Mary, Constance fille de fay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Many dames with footfall light.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Whosoever wander'd there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Whether it be dame or knight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Half of scarlet, half of white<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their raiment was; of roses fair<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Each wore a garland on the head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">At Ladies' Gard the way was so:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Fair Jehane du Castel beau<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wore her wreath till it was dead.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Little joy she had of it,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of the raiment white and red,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or the garland on her head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She had none with whom to sit<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In the carven boat at noon;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">None the more did Jehane weep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">She would only stand and keep<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Saying: He will be here soon!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Many times in the long day<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Miles and Giles and Gervaise passed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Holding each some white hand fast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Every time they heard her say:<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Summer cometh to an end,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Undern cometh after noon;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Golden wings will be here soon,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What if I some token send?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Wherefore that night within the hall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With open mouth and open eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Like some one listening with surprise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She sat before the sight of all.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Stoop'd down a little she sat there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With neck stretch'd out and chin thrown up,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">One hand around a golden cup;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And strangely with her fingers fair<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She beat some tune upon the gold;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The minstrels in the gallery<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sung: Arthur, who will never die,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In Avallon he groweth old.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And when the song was ended, she<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Rose and caught up her gown and ran;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">None stopp'd her eager face and wan<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of all that pleasant company.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Right so within her own chamber<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Upon her bed she sat; and drew<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Her breath in quick gasps; till she knew<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That no man follow'd after her.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She took the garland from her head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Loosed all her hair, and let it lie<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Upon the coverlet; thereby<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She laid the gown of white and red;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And she took off her scarlet shoon,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And bared her feet; still more and more<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Her sweet face redden'd; evermore<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She murmur'd: He will be here soon;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Truly he cannot fail to know<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My tender body waits him here;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And if he knows, I have no fear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For poor Jehane du Castel beau.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She took a sword within her hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Whose hilts were silver, and she sung<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Somehow like this, wild words that rung<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A long way over the moonlit land:<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Gold wings across the sea!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Grey light from tree to tree,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Gold hair beside my knee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I pray thee come to me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Gold wings!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i8">The water slips,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">The red-bill'd moorhen dips.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sweet kisses on red lips;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Alas! the red rust grips,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And the blood-red dagger rips,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Yet, O knight, come to me!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Are not my blue eyes sweet?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The west wind from the wheat<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Blows cold across my feet;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is it not time to meet<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Gold wings across the sea?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">White swans on the green moat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Small feathers left afloat<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">By the blue-painted boat;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Swift running of the stoat,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span>
+<span class="i2">Sweet gurgling note by note<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of sweet music.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i8">O gold wings,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Listen how gold hair sings,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And the Ladies Castle rings,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Gold wings across the sea.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">I sit on a purple bed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Outside, the wall is red,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thereby the apple hangs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And the wasp, caught by the fangs,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Dies in the autumn night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And the bat flits till light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And the love-craz&egrave;d knight<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Kisses the long wet grass:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The weary days pass,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Gold wings across the sea.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Gold wings across the sea!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Moonlight from tree to tree,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sweet hair laid on my knee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">O, sweet knight, come to me.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Gold wings, the short night slips,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The white swan's long neck drips,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I pray thee kiss my lips,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Gold wings across the sea!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">No answer through the moonlit night;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">No answer in the cold grey dawn;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">No answer when the shaven lawn<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Grew green, and all the roses bright.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Her tired feet look'd cold and thin,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Her lips were twitch'd, and wretched tears,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Some, as she lay, roll'd past her ears,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some fell from off her quivering chin.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Her long throat, stretched to its full length,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Rose up and fell right brokenly;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As though the unhappy heart was nigh<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Striving to break with all its strength.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And when she slipp'd from off the bed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Her cramp'd feet would not hold her; she<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sank down and crept on hand and knee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On the window-sill she laid her head.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There, with crooked arm upon the sill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">She look'd out, muttering dismally:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">There is no sail upon the sea,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No pennon on the empty hill.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I cannot stay here all alone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or meet their happy faces here,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And wretchedly I have no fear;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A little while, and I am gone.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Therewith she rose upon her feet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And totter'd; cold and misery<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Still made the deep sobs come, till she<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At last stretch'd out her fingers sweet,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And caught the great sword in her hand;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And, stealing down the silent stair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Barefooted in the morning air.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And only in her smock, did stand<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Upright upon the green lawn grass;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And hope grew in her as she said:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I have thrown off the white and red,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And pray God it may come to pass<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I meet him; if ten years go by<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Before I meet him; if, indeed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Meanwhile both soul and body bleed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet there is end of misery,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And I have hope. He could not come,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But I can go to him and show<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">These new things I have got to know,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And make him speak, who has been dumb.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O Jehane! the red morning sun<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Changed her white feet to glowing gold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Upon her smock, on crease and fold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Changed that to gold which had been dun.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O Miles, and Giles, and Isabeau,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Fair Ellayne le Violet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Mary, Constance fille de fay!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where is Jehane du Castel beau?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O big Gervaise ride apace!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Down to the hard yellow sand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where the water meets the land.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This is Jehane by her face.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Why has she a broken sword?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Mary! she is slain outright;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Verily a piteous sight;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Take her up without a word!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Giles and Miles and Gervaise there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Ladies' Gard must meet the war;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Whatsoever knights these are,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Man the walls withouten fear!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Axes to the apple-trees,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Axes to the aspens tall!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Barriers without the wall<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">May be lightly made of these.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O poor shivering Isabeau;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Poor Ellayne le Violet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Bent with fear! we miss to-day<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Brave Jehane du Castel beau.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O poor Mary, weeping so!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Wretched Constance fille de fay!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Verily we miss to-day<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fair Jehane du Castel beau.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The apples now grow green and sour<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Upon the mouldering castle-wall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Before they ripen there they fall:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There are no banners on the tower,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The draggled swans most eagerly eat<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The green weeds trailing in the moat;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Inside the rotting leaky boat<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You see a slain man's stiffen'd feet.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE HAYSTACK IN THE FLOODS</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem22"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="id0"><span class="dcap">H</span>AD she come all the way for this,<br /></span>
+<span class="id0">To part at last without a kiss?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yea, had she borne the dirt and rain<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That her own eyes might see him slain<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beside the haystack in the floods?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Along the dripping leafless woods,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The stirrup touching either shoe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She rode astride as troopers do;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With kirtle kilted to her knee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To which the mud splash'd wretchedly;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the wet dripp'd from every tree<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon her head and heavy hair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And on her eyelids broad and fair;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The tears and rain ran down her face.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">By fits and starts they rode apace,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And very often was his place<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Far off from her; he had to ride<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ahead, to see what might betide<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When the roads cross'd; and sometimes, when<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There rose a murmuring from his men,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had to turn back with promises.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ah me! she had but little ease;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And often for pure doubt and dread<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She sobb'd, made giddy in the head<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By the swift riding; while, for cold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her slender fingers scarce could hold<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The wet reins; yea, and scarcely, too,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She felt the foot within her shoe<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Against the stirrup: all for this,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To part at last without a kiss<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beside the haystack in the floods.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For when they near'd that old soak'd hay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They saw across the only way<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That Judas, Godmar, and the three<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Red running lions dismally<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Grinn'd from his pennon, under which<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In one straight line along the ditch,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">They counted thirty heads.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i12">So then,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While Robert turn'd round to his men,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She saw at once the wretched end,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, stooping down, tried hard to rend<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her coif the wrong way from her head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And hid her eyes; while Robert said:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nay, love, 'tis scarcely two to one,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At Poictiers where we made them run<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So fast: why, sweet my love, good cheer,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Gascon frontier is so near,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nought after this.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i8">But: O! she said,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My God! my God! I have to tread<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The long way back without you; then<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The court at Paris; those six men;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The gratings of the Chatelet;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The swift Seine on some rainy day<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like this, and people standing by,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And laughing, while my weak hands try<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To recollect how strong men swim.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All this, or else a life with him,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">For which I should be damned at last,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would God that this next hour were past!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He answer'd not, but cried his cry,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">St. George for Marny! cheerily;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And laid his hand upon her rein.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Alas! no man of all his train<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Gave back that cheery cry again;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, while for rage his thumb beat fast<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon his sword-hilt, some one cast<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">About his neck a kerchief long,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And bound him.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i8">Then they went along<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To Godmar; who said: Now, Jehane,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your lover's life is on the wane<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So fast, that, if this very hour<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You yield not as my paramour,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He will not see the rain leave off:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nay, keep your tongue from gibe and scoff<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sir Robert, or I slay you now.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She laid her hand upon her brow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then gazed upon the palm, as though<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">She thought her forehead bled, and: No!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She said, and turn'd her head away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As there were nothing else to say,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And everything were settled: red<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Grew Godmar's face from chin to head:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Jehane, on yonder hill there stands<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My castle, guarding well my lands;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What hinders me from taking you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And doing that I list to do<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To your fair wilful body, while<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your knight lies dead?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">A wicked smile<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wrinkled her face, her lips grew thin,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A long way out she thrust her chin:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You know that I should strangle you<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While you were sleeping; or bite through<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your throat, by God's help: ah! she said,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lord Jesus, pity your poor maid!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For in such wise they hem me in,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I cannot choose but sin and sin,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whatever happens: yet I think<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They could not make me eat or drink,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And so should I just reach my rest.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Nay, if you do not my behest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O Jehane! though I love you well,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Said Godmar, would I fail to tell<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All that I know? Foul lies, she said.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Eh? lies, my Jehane? by God's head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At Paris folks would deem them true!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Do you know, Jehane, they cry for you:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Jehane the brown! Jehane the brown!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Give us Jehane to burn or drown!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Eh! gag me Robert! Sweet my friend,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This were indeed a piteous end<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For those long fingers, and long feet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And long neck, and smooth shoulders sweet;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An end that few men would forget<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That saw it. So, an hour yet:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Consider, Jehane, which to take<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of life or death!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i8">So, scarce awake,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dismounting, did she leave that place,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And totter some yards: with her face<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Turn'd upward to the sky she lay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her head on a wet heap of hay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And fell asleep: and while she slept,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And did not dream, the minutes crept<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Round to the twelve again; but she,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Being waked at last, sigh'd quietly,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And strangely childlike came, and said:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I will not. Straightway Godmar's head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As though it hung on strong wires, turn'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Most sharply round, and his face burn'd.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For Robert, both his eyes were dry,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He could not weep, but gloomily<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He seem'd to watch the rain; yea, too,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His lips were firm; he tried once more<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To touch her lips; she reached out, sore<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And vain desire so tortured them,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The poor grey lips, and now the hem<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of his sleeve brush'd them.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i12">With a start<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Up Godmar rose, thrust them apart;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From Robert's throat he loosed the bands<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of silk and mail; with empty hands<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Held out, she stood and gazed, and saw,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The long bright blade without a flaw<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Glide out from Godmar's sheath, his hand<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">In Robert's hair; she saw him bend<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Back Robert's head; she saw him send<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The thin steel down; the blow told well,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Right backward the knight Robert fell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And moaned as dogs do, being half dead,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unwitting, as I deem: so then<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Godmar turn'd grinning to his men,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who ran, some five or six, and beat<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His head to pieces at their feet.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then Godmar turn'd again and said:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So, Jehane, the first fitte is read!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Take note, my lady, that your way<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lies backward to the Chatelet!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She shook her head and gazed awhile<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At her cold hands with a rueful smile,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As though this thing had made her mad.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">This was the parting that they had<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beside the haystack in the floods.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span></p>
+<h2>TWO RED ROSES ACROSS THE MOON</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem25"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="id0"><span class="dcap">T</span>HERE was a lady lived in a hall,<br /></span>
+<span class="id0">Large of her eyes, and slim and tall;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And ever she sung from noon to noon,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>Two red roses across the moon.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There was a knight came riding by<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In early spring, when the roads were dry;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And he heard that lady sing at the noon,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>Two red roses across the moon.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yet none the more he stopp'd at all,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But he rode a-gallop past the hall;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And left that lady singing at noon,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>Two red roses across the moon.</i><br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Because, forsooth, the battle was set,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the scarlet and blue had got to be met,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He rode on the spur till the next warm noon:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>Two red roses across the moon.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But the battle was scatter'd from hill to hill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From the windmill to the watermill;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And he said to himself, as it near'd the noon,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>Two red roses across the moon.</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">You scarce could see for the scarlet and blue,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A golden helm or a golden shoe:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So he cried, as the fight grew thick at the noon,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>Two red roses across the moon!</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Verily then the gold bore through<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The huddled spears of the scarlet and blue;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And they cried, as they cut them down at the noon,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>Two red roses across the moon!</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I trow he stopp'd when he rode again<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By the hall, though draggled sore with the rain;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And his lips were pinch'd to kiss at the noon<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>Two red roses across the moon.</i><br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Under the may she stoop'd to the crown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All was gold, there was nothing of brown;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the horns blew up in the hall at noon,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>Two red roses across the moon.</i><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span></p>
+<h2>WELLAND RIVER</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem22"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="id0"><span class="dcap">F</span>AIR Ellayne she walk'd by Welland river,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Across the lily lee:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O, gentle Sir Robert, ye are not kind<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To stay so long at sea.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Over the marshland none can see<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Your scarlet pennon fair;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O, leave the Easterlings alone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Because of my golden hair.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The day when over Stamford bridge<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That dear pennon I see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Go up toward the goodly street,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">'Twill be a fair day for me.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O, let the bonny pennon bide<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">At Stamford, the good town,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And let the Easterlings go free,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And their ships go up and down.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For every day that passes by<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I wax both pale and green,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From gold to gold of my girdle<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">There is an inch between.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I sew'd it up with scarlet silk<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Last night upon my knee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And my heart grew sad and sore to think<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thy face I'd never see.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I sew'd it up with scarlet silk,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As I lay upon my bed:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sorrow! the man I'll never see<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That had my maidenhead.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But as Ellayne sat on her window-seat<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And comb'd her yellow hair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She saw come over Stamford bridge<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The scarlet pennon fair.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">As Ellayne lay and sicken'd sore,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The gold shoes on her feet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She saw Sir Robert and his men<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Ride up the Stamford street.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He had a coat of fine red gold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And a bascinet of steel;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Take note his goodly Collayne sword<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Smote the spur upon his heel.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And by his side, on a grey jennet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">There rode a fair lady,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For every ruby Ellayne wore,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I count she carried three.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Say, was not Ellayne's gold hair fine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That fell to her middle free?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But that lady's hair down in the street,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Fell lower than her knee.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Fair Ellayne's face, from sorrow and grief,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Was waxen pale and green:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That lady's face was goodly red,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">She had but little tene.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But as he pass'd by her window<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He grew a little wroth:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O, why does yon pale face look at me<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From out the golden cloth?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">It is some burd, the fair dame said,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That aye rode him beside,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Has come to see your bonny face<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">This merry summer-tide.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But Ellayne let a lily-flower<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Light on his cap of steel:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O, I have gotten two hounds, fair knight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The one has served me well;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But the other, just an hour agone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Has come from over sea,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all his fell is sleek and fine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But little he knows of me.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Now, which shall I let go, fair knight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And which shall bide with me?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O, lady, have no doubt to keep<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The one that best loveth thee.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O, Robert, see how sick I am!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Ye do not so by me.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lie still, fair love, have ye gotten harm<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">While I was on the sea?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Of one gift, Robert, that ye gave,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I sicken to the death,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I pray you nurse-tend me, my knight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Whiles that I have my breath.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Six fathoms from the Stamford bridge<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He left that dame to stand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And whiles she wept, and whiles she cursed<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That she ever had taken land.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He has kiss'd sweet Ellayne on the mouth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And fair she fell asleep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And long and long days after that<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sir Robert's house she did keep.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span></p>
+<h2>RIDING TOGETHER</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem25"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="id0"><span class="dcap">F</span>OR many, many days together<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The wind blew steady from the East;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For many days hot grew the weather,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">About the time of our Lady's Feast.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For many days we rode together,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Yet met we neither friend nor foe;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hotter and clearer grew the weather,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Steadily did the East wind blow.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">We saw the trees in the hot, bright weather,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Clear-cut, with shadows very black,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As freely we rode on together<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With helms unlaced and bridles slack.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And often as we rode together,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">We, looking down the green-bank'd stream,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Saw flowers in the sunny weather,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And saw the bubble-making bream.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And in the night lay down together,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And hung above our heads the rood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or watch'd night-long in the dewy weather,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The while the moon did watch the wood.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Our spears stood bright and thick together,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Straight out the banners stream'd behind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As we gallop'd on in the sunny weather,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With faces turn'd towards the wind.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Down sank our threescore spears together,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As thick we saw the pagans ride;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His eager face in the clear fresh weather,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Shone out that last time by my side.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Up the sweep of the bridge we dash'd together,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">It rock'd to the crash of the meeting spears,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Down rain'd the buds of the dear spring weather,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The elm-tree flowers fell like tears.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There, as we roll'd and writhed together,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I threw my arms above my head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For close by my side, in the lovely weather,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I saw him reel and fall back dead.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I and the slayer met together,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He waited the death-stroke there in his place,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With thoughts of death, in the lovely weather,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Gapingly mazed at my madden'd face.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Madly I fought as we fought together;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In vain: the little Christian band<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The pagans drown'd, as in stormy weather,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The river drowns low-lying land.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">They bound my blood-stain'd hands together,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">They bound his corpse to nod by my side:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then on we rode, in the bright March weather,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With clash of cymbals did we ride.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">We ride no more, no more together;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My prison-bars are thick and strong,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I take no heed of any weather,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The sweet Saints grant I live not long.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span></p>
+<h2>FATHER JOHN'S WAR-SONG</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem22">
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">The Reapers.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="id0"><span class="dcap">S</span>O many reapers, Father John,<br /></span>
+<span class="id0">So many reapers and no little son,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To meet you when the day is done,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With little stiff legs to waddle and run?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pray you beg, borrow, or steal one son.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hurrah for the corn-sheaves of Father John!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Father John.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O maiden Mary, be wary, be wary!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And go not down to the river,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lest the kingfisher, your evil wisher,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lure you down to the river,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lest your white feet grow muddy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your red hair too ruddy<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">With the river-mud so red;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But when you are wed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Go down to the river.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O maiden Mary, be very wary,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And dwell among the corn!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">See, this dame Alice, maiden Mary,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her hair is thin and white,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But she is a housewife good and wary,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And a great steel key hangs bright<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From her gown, as red as the flowers in corn;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She is good and old like the autumn corn.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Maiden Mary.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">This is knight Roland, Father John,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stark in his arms from a field half-won;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ask him if he has seen your son:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Roland, lay your sword on the corn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The piled-up sheaves of the golden corn.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Knight Roland.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Why does she kiss me, Father John?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She is my true love truly won!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Under my helm is room for one,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But the molten lead-streams trickle and run<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">From my roof-tree, burning under the sun;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No corn to burn, we had eaten the corn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There was no waste of the golden corn.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Father John.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ho, you reapers, away from the corn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To march with the banner of Father John!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">The Reapers.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">We will win a house for Roland his son,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And for maiden Mary with hair like corn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As red as the reddest of golden corn.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Omnes.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Father John, you have got a son,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Seven feet high when his helm is on<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pennon of Roland, banner of John,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Star of Mary, march well on.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span></p>
+<h2>SIR GILES' WAR-SONG</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem22"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="id2"><i><span class="dcap">H</span>O! is there any will ride with me,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i4"><i>Sir Giles, le bon des barri&egrave;res?</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The clink of arms is good to hear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The flap of pennons fair to see;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Ho! is there any will ride with me,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i4"><i>Sir Giles, le bon des barri&egrave;res?</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The leopards and lilies are fair to see;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">St. George Guienne! right good to hear:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Ho! is there any will ride with me,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i4"><i>Sir Giles, le bon des barri&egrave;res?</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I stood by the barrier,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My coat being blazon'd fair to see;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Ho! is there any will ride with me,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i4"><i>Sir Giles, le bon des barri&egrave;res?</i><br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Clisson put out his head to see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And lifted his basnet up to hear;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I pull'd him through the bars to <span class="smcap">me</span>,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4"><i>Sir Giles; le bon des barri&egrave;res.</i><br /></span>
+</div></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span></p>
+<h2>NEAR AVALON</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem22"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="id0"><span class="dcap">A</span>&nbsp;SHIP with shields before the sun,<br /></span>
+<span class="id0">Six maidens round the mast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A red-gold crown on every one,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A green gown on the last.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The fluttering green banners there<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are wrought with ladies' heads most fair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And a portraiture of Guenevere<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The middle of each sail doth bear.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A ship which sails before the wind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And round the helm six knights,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their heaumes are on, whereby, half blind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They pass by many sights.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The tatter'd scarlet banners there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Right soon will leave the spear-heads bare.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those six knights sorrowfully bear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In all their heaumes some yellow hair.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span></p>
+<h2>PRAISE OF MY LADY</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem25"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="id0"><span class="dcap">M</span>Y lady seems of ivory<br /></span>
+<span class="id0">Forehead, straight nose, and cheeks that be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hollow'd a little mournfully.<br /></span>
+<span class="i6"><i>Beata mea Domina!</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Her forehead, overshadow'd much<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By bows of hair, has a wave such<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As God was good to make for me.<br /></span>
+<span class="i6"><i>Beata mea Domina!</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Not greatly long my lady's hair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor yet with yellow colour fair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But thick and crisp&egrave;d wonderfully:<br /></span>
+<span class="i6"><i>Beata mea Domina!</i><br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Heavy to make the pale face sad,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And dark, but dead as though it had<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Been forged by God most wonderfully<br /></span>
+<span class="i6"><i>Beata mea Domina!</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Of some strange metal, thread by thread,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To stand out from my lady's head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not moving much to tangle me.<br /></span>
+<span class="i6"><i>Beata mea Domina!</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Beneath her brows the lids fall slow.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The lashes a clear shadow throw<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where I would wish my lips to be.<br /></span>
+<span class="i6"><i>Beata mea Domina!</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Her great eyes, standing far apart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Draw up some memory from her heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And gaze out very mournfully;<br /></span>
+<span class="i6"><i>Beata mea Domina!</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So beautiful and kind they are,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But most times looking out afar,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Waiting for something, not for me.<br /></span>
+<span class="i6"><i>Beata mea Domina!</i><br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I wonder if the lashes long<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are those that do her bright eyes wrong,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For always half tears seem to be<br /></span>
+<span class="i6"><i>Beata mea Domina!</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Lurking below the underlid,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Darkening the place where they lie hid:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If they should rise and flow for me!<br /></span>
+<span class="i6"><i>Beata mea Domina!</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Her full lips being made to kiss,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Curl'd up and pensive each one is;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This makes me faint to stand and see.<br /></span>
+<span class="i6"><i>Beata mea Domina!</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Her lips are not contented now,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Because the hours pass so slow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Towards a sweet time: (pray for me),<br /></span>
+<span class="i6"><i>Beata mea Domina!</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Nay, hold thy peace! for who can tell?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But this at least I know full well,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her lips are parted longingly,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6"><i>Beata mea Domina!</i><br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So passionate and swift to move,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To pluck at any flying love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That I grow faint to stand and see.<br /></span>
+<span class="i6"><i>Beata mea Domina</i>!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yea! there beneath them is her chin,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So fine and round, it were a sin<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To feel no weaker when I see<br /></span>
+<span class="i6"><i>Beata mea Domina</i>!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">God's dealings; for with so much care<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And troublous, faint lines wrought in there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He finishes her face for me.<br /></span>
+<span class="i6"><i>Beata mea Domina</i>!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Of her long neck what shall I say?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What things about her body's sway,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like a knight's pennon or slim tree<br /></span>
+<span class="i6"><i>Beata mea Domina</i>!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Set gently waving in the wind;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or her long hands that I may find<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On some day sweet to move o'er me?<br /></span>
+<span class="i6"><i>Beata mea Domina!</i><br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">God pity me though, if I miss'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The telling, how along her wrist<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The veins creep, dying languidly<br /></span>
+<span class="i6"><i>Beata mea Domina!</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Inside her tender palm and thin.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now give me pardon, dear, wherein<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My voice is weak and vexes thee.<br /></span>
+<span class="i6"><i>Beata mea Domina!</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">All men that see her any time,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I charge you straightly in this rhyme,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What, and wherever you may be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6"><i>Beata mea Domina!</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">To kneel before her; as for me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I choke and grow quite faint to see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My lady moving graciously.<br /></span>
+<span class="i6"><i>Beata mea Domina!</i><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span></p>
+<h2>SUMMER DAWN</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem30"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="id0"><span class="dcap">P</span>RAY but one prayer for me 'twixt thy closed lips;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Think but one thought of me up in the stars.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The summer night waneth, the morning light slips,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Faint and grey 'twixt the leaves of the aspen, betwixt the cloud-bars,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That are patiently waiting there for the dawn:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Patient and colourless, though Heaven's gold<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Waits to float through them along with the sun.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Far out in the meadows, above the young corn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The heavy elms wait, and restless and cold<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The uneasy wind rises; the roses are dun;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They pray the long gloom through for daylight new born,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Round the lone house in the midst of the corn.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Speak but one word to me over the corn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Over the tender, bow'd locks of the corn.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span></p>
+<h2>IN PRISON</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem15"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="id0"><span class="dcap">W</span>EARILY, drearily,<br /></span>
+<span class="id0">Half the day long,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Flap the great banners<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">High over the stone;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Strangely and eerily<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sounds the wind's song,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bending the banner-poles.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">While, all alone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Watching the loophole's spark,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lie I, with life all dark,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Feet tether'd, hands fetter'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fast to the stone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The grim walls, square letter'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With prison'd men's groan.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Still strain the banner-poles<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Through the wind's song,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Westward the banner rolls<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Over my wrong.<br /></span>
+</div></div></div>
+
+
+<p class="theend">THE END</p>
+
+
+<p class="center">
+Printed by <span class="smcap">Ballantyne, Hanson &amp; Co.</span><br />
+Edinburgh &amp; London</p>
+
+
+<div class="trans1"><p><b>Transcriber's Note:</b></p>
+
+<p>Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without
+note, whilst archaic spellings have been retained.</p>
+
+<p>Many single- and double-quotation marks were omitted in the original
+publication. Logical corrections, made from this text alone, would
+only compound any discrepancies and therefore such punctuation
+remains as printed.</p></div>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Defence of Guenevere and Other
+Poems, by William Morris
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DEFENCE OF GUENEVERE ***
+
+***** This file should be named 22650-h.htm or 22650-h.zip *****
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+        https://www.gutenberg.org/2/2/6/5/22650/
+
+Produced by Thierry Alberto, Stephen Blundell and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
+will be renamed.
+
+Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
+one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
+(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
+permission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+https://gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
+paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.  See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
+or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+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.org
+
+1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
+form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
+     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
+     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
+     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+     License.  You must require such a user to return or
+     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+     Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+     of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org.
+
+
+Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
+https://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at https://pglaf.org
+
+For additional contact information:
+     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+     Chief Executive and Director
+     gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+
+Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit https://pglaf.org
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including including checks, online payments and credit card
+donations.  To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate
+
+
+Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+     https://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
+
+
+</pre>
+
+</body>
+</html>
diff --git a/22650-page-images/f001.png b/22650-page-images/f001.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c4147fe
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/f001.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/f002.png b/22650-page-images/f002.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..45a1d7d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/f002.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/f003.png b/22650-page-images/f003.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..eff1bab
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/f003.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/f004.png b/22650-page-images/f004.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9eb278f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/f004.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p001.png b/22650-page-images/p001.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8084e88
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p001.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p002.png b/22650-page-images/p002.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..bb4de7d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p002.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p003.png b/22650-page-images/p003.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..45e1584
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p003.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p004.png b/22650-page-images/p004.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0007870
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p004.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p005.png b/22650-page-images/p005.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..88429f5
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p005.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p006.png b/22650-page-images/p006.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..548ee71
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p006.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p007.png b/22650-page-images/p007.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0fa9773
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p007.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p008.png b/22650-page-images/p008.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0e40094
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p008.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p009.png b/22650-page-images/p009.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b82f18f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p009.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p010.png b/22650-page-images/p010.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..022b6c7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p010.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p011.png b/22650-page-images/p011.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f432375
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p011.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p012.png b/22650-page-images/p012.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7ef5e2c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p012.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p013.png b/22650-page-images/p013.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..fe9d4cc
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p013.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p014.png b/22650-page-images/p014.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..01c4686
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p014.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p015.png b/22650-page-images/p015.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..556229f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p015.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p016.png b/22650-page-images/p016.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..40e6c89
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p016.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p017.png b/22650-page-images/p017.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5d12be2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p017.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p018.png b/22650-page-images/p018.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..32ec419
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p018.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p021.png b/22650-page-images/p021.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c381a9d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p021.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p022.png b/22650-page-images/p022.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6094192
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p022.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p023.png b/22650-page-images/p023.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..65d02a6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p023.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p024.png b/22650-page-images/p024.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ed80791
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p024.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p025.png b/22650-page-images/p025.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e9d2452
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p025.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p026.png b/22650-page-images/p026.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6f46910
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p026.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p027.png b/22650-page-images/p027.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..78dd030
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p027.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p028.png b/22650-page-images/p028.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..efca6a7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p028.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p029.png b/22650-page-images/p029.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..365a545
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p029.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p030.png b/22650-page-images/p030.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..64c8d7d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p030.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p031.png b/22650-page-images/p031.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5116eb5
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p031.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p032.png b/22650-page-images/p032.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..12a6882
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p032.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p033.png b/22650-page-images/p033.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..71f8660
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p033.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p034.png b/22650-page-images/p034.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6dabc12
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p034.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p035.png b/22650-page-images/p035.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..bce60d5
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p035.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p036.png b/22650-page-images/p036.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8e689d7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p036.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p037.png b/22650-page-images/p037.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..345b05e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p037.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p038.png b/22650-page-images/p038.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1e89f90
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p038.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p039.png b/22650-page-images/p039.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..39749f9
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p039.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p040.png b/22650-page-images/p040.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5ec7248
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p040.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p041.png b/22650-page-images/p041.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..71e9179
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p041.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p042.png b/22650-page-images/p042.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..727c5f2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p042.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p043.png b/22650-page-images/p043.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..bda96c0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p043.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p045.png b/22650-page-images/p045.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..72f9273
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p045.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p046.png b/22650-page-images/p046.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8ceaa84
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p046.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p047.png b/22650-page-images/p047.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c10746f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p047.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p048.png b/22650-page-images/p048.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d11ee63
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p048.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p049.png b/22650-page-images/p049.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..af6a40a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p049.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p050.png b/22650-page-images/p050.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3bf6fc5
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p050.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p051.png b/22650-page-images/p051.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..497c19a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p051.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p052.png b/22650-page-images/p052.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..25c05de
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p052.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p053.png b/22650-page-images/p053.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4c8a864
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p053.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p054.png b/22650-page-images/p054.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3a2af52
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p054.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p055.png b/22650-page-images/p055.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..94200d4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p055.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p056.png b/22650-page-images/p056.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..aa77995
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p056.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p057.png b/22650-page-images/p057.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..46ddf4c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p057.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p059.png b/22650-page-images/p059.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a520cdc
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p059.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p060.png b/22650-page-images/p060.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c3f0f7c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p060.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p061.png b/22650-page-images/p061.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b038e15
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p061.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p062.png b/22650-page-images/p062.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c8db55b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p062.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p063.png b/22650-page-images/p063.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4178b44
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p063.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p064.png b/22650-page-images/p064.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..339e3bd
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p064.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p065.png b/22650-page-images/p065.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1977398
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p065.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p067.png b/22650-page-images/p067.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..85aedec
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p067.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p068.png b/22650-page-images/p068.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..806bfa7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p068.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p069.png b/22650-page-images/p069.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a5a38c0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p069.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p070.png b/22650-page-images/p070.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e864a2f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p070.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p071.png b/22650-page-images/p071.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4f9d629
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p071.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p072.png b/22650-page-images/p072.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a7daad7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p072.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p073.png b/22650-page-images/p073.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..824e858
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p073.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p074.png b/22650-page-images/p074.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d9676de
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p074.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p075.png b/22650-page-images/p075.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6941e6e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p075.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p076.png b/22650-page-images/p076.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d6f4bd2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p076.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p077.png b/22650-page-images/p077.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f59bc39
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p077.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p078.png b/22650-page-images/p078.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..df8600f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p078.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p079.png b/22650-page-images/p079.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..86657cb
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p079.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p080.png b/22650-page-images/p080.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1c6e414
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p080.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p081.png b/22650-page-images/p081.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a31d804
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p081.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p082.png b/22650-page-images/p082.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4082fc7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p082.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p083.png b/22650-page-images/p083.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c4660d4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p083.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p084.png b/22650-page-images/p084.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8e3cf71
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p084.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p085.png b/22650-page-images/p085.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e212897
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p085.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p086.png b/22650-page-images/p086.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..58fdb9a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p086.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p087.png b/22650-page-images/p087.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ac34ba8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p087.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p088.png b/22650-page-images/p088.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8acf093
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p088.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p089.png b/22650-page-images/p089.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..93cf33d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p089.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p090.png b/22650-page-images/p090.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7c17258
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p090.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p091.png b/22650-page-images/p091.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3f643ea
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p091.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p092.png b/22650-page-images/p092.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..bb26f0c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p092.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p093.png b/22650-page-images/p093.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..035ca2b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p093.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p094.png b/22650-page-images/p094.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..709cf3d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p094.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p095.png b/22650-page-images/p095.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0badadf
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p095.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p096.png b/22650-page-images/p096.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f6e84da
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p096.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p097.png b/22650-page-images/p097.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2850006
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p097.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p098.png b/22650-page-images/p098.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6502a47
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p098.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p099.png b/22650-page-images/p099.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..18abdb7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p099.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p100.png b/22650-page-images/p100.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..dbe3f98
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p100.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p101.png b/22650-page-images/p101.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..19a335a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p101.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p102.png b/22650-page-images/p102.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a83eae6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p102.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p103.png b/22650-page-images/p103.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3efd0ce
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p103.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p104.png b/22650-page-images/p104.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..59c148c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p104.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p105.png b/22650-page-images/p105.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..10992af
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p105.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p106.png b/22650-page-images/p106.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..45be8fc
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p106.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p107.png b/22650-page-images/p107.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ebcc117
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p107.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p108.png b/22650-page-images/p108.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..cb41c7d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p108.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p109.png b/22650-page-images/p109.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7fd2591
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p109.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p110.png b/22650-page-images/p110.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b98b22f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p110.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p113.png b/22650-page-images/p113.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1ecfdd4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p113.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p114.png b/22650-page-images/p114.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..169f1b0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p114.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p115.png b/22650-page-images/p115.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c5cd7df
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p115.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p116.png b/22650-page-images/p116.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..dfdcb82
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p116.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p117.png b/22650-page-images/p117.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7ba672d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p117.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p118.png b/22650-page-images/p118.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9231907
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p118.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p119.png b/22650-page-images/p119.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..da3415e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p119.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p120.png b/22650-page-images/p120.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2fe25ad
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p120.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p121.png b/22650-page-images/p121.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0cd50fc
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p121.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p122.png b/22650-page-images/p122.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..95f1c8d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p122.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p123.png b/22650-page-images/p123.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..933c0b7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p123.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p124.png b/22650-page-images/p124.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..dc2dc8c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p124.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p125.png b/22650-page-images/p125.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..67f528b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p125.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p126.png b/22650-page-images/p126.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c043dc4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p126.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p127.png b/22650-page-images/p127.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ea65777
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p127.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p128.png b/22650-page-images/p128.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..877b33e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p128.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p129.png b/22650-page-images/p129.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ef17120
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p129.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p130.png b/22650-page-images/p130.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..49f77d2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p130.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p131.png b/22650-page-images/p131.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1bd1a59
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p131.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p132.png b/22650-page-images/p132.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..05ea393
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p132.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p133.png b/22650-page-images/p133.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..cd99bee
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p133.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p134.png b/22650-page-images/p134.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..55dd944
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p134.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p135.png b/22650-page-images/p135.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..994fd35
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p135.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p137.png b/22650-page-images/p137.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..939e517
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p137.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p138.png b/22650-page-images/p138.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c451599
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p138.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p139.png b/22650-page-images/p139.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..bc866a6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p139.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p140.png b/22650-page-images/p140.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0e7adc2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p140.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p141.png b/22650-page-images/p141.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..531c917
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p141.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p142.png b/22650-page-images/p142.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..159ea3b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p142.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p143.png b/22650-page-images/p143.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..577ede2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p143.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p144.png b/22650-page-images/p144.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2f7139c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p144.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p145.png b/22650-page-images/p145.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e36dc1d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p145.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p146.png b/22650-page-images/p146.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b27f557
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p146.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p147.png b/22650-page-images/p147.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..91d29ef
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p147.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p148.png b/22650-page-images/p148.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..78d16d1
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p148.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p149.png b/22650-page-images/p149.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..daf421e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p149.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p150.png b/22650-page-images/p150.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..822eae3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p150.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p151.png b/22650-page-images/p151.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..74da550
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p151.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p152.png b/22650-page-images/p152.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6af4121
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p152.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p153.png b/22650-page-images/p153.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d9cacaa
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p153.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p154.png b/22650-page-images/p154.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f8f1630
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p154.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p155.png b/22650-page-images/p155.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5a3c37c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p155.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p156.png b/22650-page-images/p156.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..cb76fc2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p156.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p157.png b/22650-page-images/p157.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1c014b4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p157.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p158.png b/22650-page-images/p158.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..489f785
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p158.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p159.png b/22650-page-images/p159.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4bbd6ff
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p159.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p160.png b/22650-page-images/p160.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1c93f18
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p160.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p161.png b/22650-page-images/p161.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ab3a8ce
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p161.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p162.png b/22650-page-images/p162.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..43d10cb
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p162.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p163.png b/22650-page-images/p163.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..381c869
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p163.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p164.png b/22650-page-images/p164.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..61fffb7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p164.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p165.png b/22650-page-images/p165.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..10dc729
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p165.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p166.png b/22650-page-images/p166.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..84a649e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p166.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p167.png b/22650-page-images/p167.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e1ee25b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p167.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p168.png b/22650-page-images/p168.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0286a20
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p168.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p169.png b/22650-page-images/p169.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5e56edd
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p169.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p170.png b/22650-page-images/p170.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3c17668
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p170.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p171.png b/22650-page-images/p171.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2d0e713
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p171.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p172.png b/22650-page-images/p172.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8707b32
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p172.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p173.png b/22650-page-images/p173.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..eb66b8f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p173.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p174.png b/22650-page-images/p174.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ab0e7a6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p174.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p175.png b/22650-page-images/p175.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8198d84
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p175.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p176.png b/22650-page-images/p176.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..00f5ed7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p176.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p177.png b/22650-page-images/p177.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..36e0c11
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p177.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p178.png b/22650-page-images/p178.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..39c18c7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p178.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p179.png b/22650-page-images/p179.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..01cdb4f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p179.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p180.png b/22650-page-images/p180.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..24a8233
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p180.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p181.png b/22650-page-images/p181.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8c8f61c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p181.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p182.png b/22650-page-images/p182.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..70a9ada
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p182.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p183.png b/22650-page-images/p183.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d2b2028
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p183.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p184.png b/22650-page-images/p184.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4c82cd2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p184.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p185.png b/22650-page-images/p185.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..bdbb62b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p185.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p186.png b/22650-page-images/p186.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..90c2c5b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p186.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p187.png b/22650-page-images/p187.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..fe80d73
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p187.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p188.png b/22650-page-images/p188.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..af99fc8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p188.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p189.png b/22650-page-images/p189.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e2cbc49
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p189.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p190.png b/22650-page-images/p190.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ff548a2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p190.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p191.png b/22650-page-images/p191.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8ced69c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p191.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p192.png b/22650-page-images/p192.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..58e71c9
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p192.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p193.png b/22650-page-images/p193.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..caefc4c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p193.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p194.png b/22650-page-images/p194.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..299312d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p194.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p195.png b/22650-page-images/p195.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c4a5b46
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p195.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p196.png b/22650-page-images/p196.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7f62c81
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p196.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p197.png b/22650-page-images/p197.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7fea0b8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p197.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p198.png b/22650-page-images/p198.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8847829
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p198.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p199.png b/22650-page-images/p199.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c2fc07b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p199.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p200.png b/22650-page-images/p200.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..be11df8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p200.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p201.png b/22650-page-images/p201.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3597ef5
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p201.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p202.png b/22650-page-images/p202.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8a3ad9a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p202.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p203.png b/22650-page-images/p203.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9497d5d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p203.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p204.png b/22650-page-images/p204.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..15854ec
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p204.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p205.png b/22650-page-images/p205.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..040326a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p205.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p206.png b/22650-page-images/p206.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e01d41e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p206.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p207.png b/22650-page-images/p207.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..66216ad
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p207.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p208.png b/22650-page-images/p208.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7a52ce8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p208.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p209.png b/22650-page-images/p209.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4dd77ea
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p209.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p210.png b/22650-page-images/p210.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b70135e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p210.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p211.png b/22650-page-images/p211.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9495b1b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p211.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p212.png b/22650-page-images/p212.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a8acd67
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p212.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p213.png b/22650-page-images/p213.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5c4077c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p213.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p214.png b/22650-page-images/p214.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8360b82
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p214.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p215.png b/22650-page-images/p215.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..94e9400
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p215.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p216.png b/22650-page-images/p216.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c247566
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p216.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p217.png b/22650-page-images/p217.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e915b9e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p217.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p218.png b/22650-page-images/p218.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..21e7570
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p218.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p219.png b/22650-page-images/p219.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..95b756b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p219.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p220.png b/22650-page-images/p220.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..98b9cf6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p220.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p221.png b/22650-page-images/p221.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..457c62e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p221.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p222.png b/22650-page-images/p222.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..15bbf27
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p222.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p223.png b/22650-page-images/p223.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9af0887
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p223.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p224.png b/22650-page-images/p224.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c8da481
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p224.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p225.png b/22650-page-images/p225.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..80a6325
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p225.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p226.png b/22650-page-images/p226.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6949024
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p226.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p227.png b/22650-page-images/p227.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7e60395
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p227.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p228.png b/22650-page-images/p228.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4aab1d8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p228.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p229.png b/22650-page-images/p229.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5f95fc5
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p229.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p230.png b/22650-page-images/p230.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..afdcc97
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p230.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p231.png b/22650-page-images/p231.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3ffb98c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p231.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p232.png b/22650-page-images/p232.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d9629bd
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p232.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p233.png b/22650-page-images/p233.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..58c0111
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p233.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p234.png b/22650-page-images/p234.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0f297b5
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p234.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p235.png b/22650-page-images/p235.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..34e321a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p235.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p236.png b/22650-page-images/p236.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c0cc7c8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p236.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p237.png b/22650-page-images/p237.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3305794
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p237.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p238.png b/22650-page-images/p238.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c023c22
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p238.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p239.png b/22650-page-images/p239.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..05b5008
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p239.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p240.png b/22650-page-images/p240.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7d0987b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p240.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p241.png b/22650-page-images/p241.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3b71da8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p241.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p242.png b/22650-page-images/p242.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..deac9d0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p242.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p243.png b/22650-page-images/p243.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b586e27
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p243.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p244.png b/22650-page-images/p244.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b46e00e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p244.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p245.png b/22650-page-images/p245.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b682a38
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p245.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p246.png b/22650-page-images/p246.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e2bd0ce
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p246.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p247.png b/22650-page-images/p247.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..447d9b1
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p247.png
diff --git a/22650-page-images/p248.png b/22650-page-images/p248.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ef89635
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650-page-images/p248.png
diff --git a/22650.txt b/22650.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ed67e4a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,5942 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of 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.org
+
+
+Title: The Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems
+
+Author: William Morris
+
+Release Date: September 17, 2007 [EBook #22650]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DEFENCE OF GUENEVERE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Thierry Alberto, Stephen Blundell and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://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 the bells that rang that day,
+    O'er the white roofs, with little change of rhyme.
+
+    Christmas and whitened winter passed away,
+    And over me the April sunshine came,
+    Made very awful with black hail-clouds, yea
+
+    And in the Summer I grew white with flame,
+    And bowed my head down: Autumn, and the sick
+    Sure knowledge things would never be the same,
+
+    However often Spring might be most thick
+    Of blossoms and buds, smote on me, and I grew
+    Careless of most things, let the clock tick, tick,
+
+    To my unhappy pulse, that beat right through
+    My eager body; while I laughed out loud,
+    And let my lips curl up at false or true,
+
+    Seemed cold and shallow without any cloud.
+    Behold my judges, then the cloths were brought;
+    While I was dizzied thus, old thoughts would crowd,
+
+    Belonging to the time ere I was bought
+    By Arthur's great name and his little love;
+    Must I give up for ever then, I thought,
+
+    That which I deemed would ever round me move
+    Glorifying all things; for a little word,
+    Scarce ever meant at all, must I now prove
+
+    Stone-cold for ever? Pray you, does the Lord
+    Will that all folks should be quite happy and good?
+    I love God now a little, if this cord
+
+    Were broken, once for all what striving could
+    Make me love anything in earth or heaven?
+    So day by day it grew, as if one should
+
+    Slip slowly down some path worn smooth and even,
+    Down to a cool sea on a summer day;
+    Yet still in slipping there was some small leaven
+
+    Of stretched hands catching small stones by the way,
+    Until one surely reached the sea at last,
+    And felt strange new joy as the worn head lay
+
+    Back, with the hair like sea-weed; yea all past
+    Sweat of the forehead, dryness of the lips,
+    Washed utterly out by the dear waves o'ercast,
+
+    In the lone sea, far off from any ships!
+    Do I not know now of a day in Spring?
+    No minute of that wild day ever slips
+
+    From out my memory; I hear thrushes sing,
+    And wheresoever I may be, straightway
+    Thoughts of it all come up with most fresh sting:
+
+    I was half mad with beauty on that day,
+    And went without my ladies all alone,
+    In a quiet garden walled round every way;
+
+    I was right joyful of that wall of stone,
+    That shut the flowers and trees up with the sky,
+    And trebled all the beauty: to the bone,
+
+    Yea right through to my heart, grown very shy
+    With weary thoughts, it pierced, and made me glad;
+    Exceedingly glad, and I knew verily,
+
+    A little thing just then had made me mad;
+    I dared not think, as I was wont to do,
+    Sometimes, upon my beauty; If I had
+
+    Held out my long hand up against the blue,
+    And, looking on the tenderly darken'd fingers,
+    Thought that by rights one ought to see quite through,
+
+    There, see you, where the soft still light yet lingers,
+    Round by the edges; what should I have done,
+    If this had joined with yellow spotted singers,
+
+    And startling green drawn upward by the sun?
+    But shouting, loosed out, see now! all my hair,
+    And trancedly stood watching the west wind run
+
+    With faintest half-heard breathing sound; why there
+    I lose my head e'en now in doing this;
+    But shortly listen: In that garden fair
+
+    Came Launcelot walking; this is true, the kiss
+    Wherewith we kissed in meeting that spring day,
+    I scarce dare talk of the remember'd bliss,
+
+    When both our mouths went wandering in one way,
+    And aching sorely, met among the leaves;
+    Our hands being left behind strained far away.
+
+    Never within a yard of my bright sleeves
+    Had Launcelot come before: and now, so nigh!
+    After that day why is it Guenevere grieves?
+
+    Nevertheless you, O Sir Gauwaine, lie,
+    Whatever happened on through all those years,
+    God knows I speak truth, saying that you lie.
+
+    Being such a lady could I weep these tears
+    If this were true? A great queen such as I
+    Having sinn'd this way, straight her conscience sears;
+
+    And afterwards she liveth hatefully,
+    Slaying and poisoning, certes never weeps:
+    Gauwaine be friends now, speak me lovingly.
+
+    Do I not see how God's dear pity creeps
+    All through your frame, and trembles in your mouth?
+    Remember in what grave your mother sleeps,
+
+    Buried in some place far down in the south,
+    Men are forgetting as I speak to you;
+    By her head sever'd in that awful drouth
+
+    Of pity that drew Agravaine's fell blow,
+    I pray your pity! let me not scream out
+    For ever after, when the shrill winds blow
+
+    Through half your castle-locks! let me not shout
+    For ever after in the winter night
+    When you ride out alone! in battle-rout
+
+    Let not my rusting tears make your sword light!
+    Ah! God of mercy, how he turns away!
+    So, ever must I dress me to the fight,
+
+    So: let God's justice work! Gauwaine, I say,
+    See me hew down your proofs: yea all men know
+    Even as you said how Mellyagraunce one day,
+
+    One bitter day in _la Fausse Garde_, for so
+    All good knights held it after, saw:
+    Yea, sirs, by cursed unknightly outrage; though
+
+    You, Gauwaine, held his word without a flaw,
+    This Mellyagraunce saw blood upon my bed:
+    Whose blood then pray you? is there any law
+
+    To make a queen say why some spots of red
+    Lie on her coverlet? or will you say:
+    Your hands are white, lady, as when you wed,
+
+    Where did you bleed? and must I stammer out, Nay,
+    I blush indeed, fair lord, only to rend
+    My sleeve up to my shoulder, where there lay
+
+    A knife-point last night: so must I defend
+    The honour of the Lady Guenevere?
+    Not so, fair lords, even if the world should end
+
+    This very day, and you were judges here
+    Instead of God. Did you see Mellyagraunce
+    When Launcelot stood by him? what white fear
+
+    Curdled his blood, and how his teeth did dance,
+    His side sink in? as my knight cried and said:
+    Slayer of unarm'd men, here is a chance!
+
+    Setter of traps, I pray you guard your head,
+    By God I am so glad to fight with you,
+    Stripper of ladies, that my hand feels lead
+
+    For driving weight; hurrah now! draw and do,
+    For all my wounds are moving in my breast,
+    And I am getting mad with waiting so.
+
+    He struck his hands together o'er the beast,
+    Who fell down flat, and grovell'd at his feet,
+    And groan'd at being slain so young: At least,
+
+    My knight said, rise you, sir, who are so fleet
+    At catching ladies, half-arm'd will I fight,
+    My left side all uncovered! then I weet,
+
+    Up sprang Sir Mellyagraunce with great delight
+    Upon his knave's face; not until just then
+    Did I quite hate him, as I saw my knight
+
+    Along the lists look to my stake and pen
+    With such a joyous smile, it made me sigh
+    From agony beneath my waist-chain, when
+
+    The fight began, and to me they drew nigh;
+    Ever Sir Launcelot kept him on the right,
+    And traversed warily, and ever high
+
+    And fast leapt caitiff's sword, until my knight
+    Sudden threw up his sword to his left hand,
+    Caught it, and swung it; that was all the fight,
+
+    Except a spout of blood on the hot land;
+    For it was hottest summer; and I know
+    I wonder'd how the fire, while I should stand,
+
+    And burn, against the heat, would quiver so,
+    Yards above my head; thus these matters went;
+    Which things were only warnings of the woe
+
+    That fell on me. Yet Mellyagraunce was shent,
+    For Mellyagraunce had fought against the Lord;
+    Therefore, my lords, take heed lest you be blent
+
+    With all this wickedness; say no rash word
+    Against me, being so beautiful; my eyes,
+    Wept all away to grey, may bring some sword
+
+    To drown you in your blood; see my breast rise,
+    Like waves of purple sea, as here I stand;
+    And how my arms are moved in wonderful wise,
+
+    Yea also at my full heart's strong command,
+    See through my long throat how the words go up
+    In ripples to my mouth; how in my hand
+
+    The shadow lies like wine within a cup
+    Of marvellously colour'd gold; yea now
+    This little wind is rising, look you up,
+
+    And wonder how the light is falling so
+    Within my moving tresses: will you dare,
+    When you have looked a little on my brow,
+
+    To say this thing is vile? or will you care
+    For any plausible lies of cunning woof,
+    When you can see my face with no lie there
+
+    For ever? am I not a gracious proof:
+    But in your chamber Launcelot was found:
+    Is there a good knight then would stand aloof,
+
+    When a queen says with gentle queenly sound:
+    O true as steel come now and talk with me,
+    I love to see your step upon the ground
+
+    Unwavering, also well I love to see
+    That gracious smile light up your face, and hear
+    Your wonderful words, that all mean verily
+
+    The thing they seem to mean: good friend, so dear
+    To me in everything, come here to-night,
+    Or else the hours will pass most dull and drear;
+
+    If you come not, I fear this time I might
+    Get thinking over much of times gone by,
+    When I was young, and green hope was in sight:
+
+    For no man cares now to know why I sigh;
+    And no man comes to sing me pleasant songs,
+    Nor any brings me the sweet flowers that lie
+
+    So thick in the gardens; therefore one so longs
+    To see you, Launcelot; that we may be
+    Like children once again, free from all wrongs
+
+    Just for one night. Did he not come to me?
+    What thing could keep true Launcelot away
+    If I said, Come? there 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 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 about from hill to hill;
+      As though she asked, not with so much surprise
+
+    As tired disgust, what made them stand up there
+      So cold and grey. After, a spasm took
+    Her face, and all her frame, she caught her hair,
+      All her hair, in both hands, terribly she shook,
+
+    And rose till she was sitting in the bed,
+      Set her teeth hard, and shut her eyes and seem'd
+    As though she would have torn it from her head,
+      Natheless she dropp'd it, lay down, as she deem'd
+
+    It matter'd not whatever she might do:
+      O Lord Christ! pity on her ghastly face!
+    Those dismal hours while the cloudless blue
+      Drew the sun higher: He did give her grace;
+
+    Because at last she rose up from her bed,
+      And put her raiment on, and knelt before
+    The blessed rood, and with her dry lips said,
+      Muttering the words against the marble floor:
+
+    'Unless you pardon, what shall I do, Lord,
+      But go to hell? and there see day by day
+    Foul deed on deed, hear foulest word on word,
+      For ever and ever, 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!
+      Didst ever think queens held their truth for dear?
+
+    O, but your lips say: Yea, but she was cold
+      Sometimes, always uncertain as the spring;
+    When I was sad she would be overbold,
+      Longing for kisses. When war-bells did ring,
+
+    The back-toll'd bells of noisy Camelot.
+      'Now, Lord God, listen! listen, Guenevere,
+    Though I am weak just now, I think there's not
+      A man who dares to say: You hated her,
+
+    And left her moaning while you fought your fill
+      In the daisied meadows! lo you her thin hand,
+    That on the carven stone can not keep still,
+      Because she loves me against God's command,
+
+    Has often been quite wet with tear on tear,
+      Tears Launcelot keeps somewhere, surely not
+    In his own heart, perhaps in Heaven, where
+      He will not be these ages.' 'Launcelot!
+
+    Loud lips, wrung heart! I say when the bells rang,
+      The noisy back-toll'd bells of Camelot,
+    There were two spots on earth, the thrushes sang
+      In the lonely gardens where my love was not,
+
+    Where I was almost weeping; I dared not
+      Weep quite in those days, lest one maid should say,
+    In tittering whispers: Where is Launcelot
+      To wipe with some kerchief those tears away?
+
+    Another answer sharply with brows knit,
+      And warning hand up, scarcely lower though:
+    You speak too loud, see you, she heareth it,
+      This tigress fair has claws, as I well know,
+
+    As Launcelot knows too, the poor knight! well-a-day!
+      Why met he not with Iseult from the West,
+    Or better still, Iseult of Brittany?
+      Perchance indeed quite ladyless were best.
+
+    Alas, my maids, you loved not overmuch
+      Queen Guenevere, uncertain as sunshine
+    In March; forgive me! for my sin being such,
+      About my whole life, all my deeds did twine,
+
+    Made me quite wicked; as I found out then,
+      I think; in the lonely palace where each morn
+    We went, my maids and I, to say prayers when
+      They sang mass in the chapel on the lawn.
+
+    And every morn I scarce could pray at all,
+      For Launcelot's red-golden hair would play,
+    Instead of sunlight, on the painted wall,
+      Mingled with dreams of what the priest did say;
+
+    Grim curses out of Peter and of Paul;
+      Judging of strange sins in Leviticus;
+    Another sort of writing on the wall,
+      Scored deep across the painted heads of us.
+
+    Christ sitting with the woman at the well,
+      And Mary Magdalen repenting there,
+    Her dimmed eyes scorch'd and red at sight of hell
+      So hardly 'scaped, no gold light on her hair.
+
+    And if the priest said anything that seemed
+      To touch upon the sin they said we did,
+    (This in their teeth) they looked as if they deem'd
+      That I was spying what thoughts might be hid
+
+    Under green-cover'd bosoms, heaving quick
+      Beneath quick thoughts; while they grew red with shame,
+    And gazed down at their feet: while I felt sick,
+      And almost shriek'd if one should call my name.
+
+    The thrushes sang in the lone garden there:
+      But where you were the birds were scared I trow:
+    Clanging of arms about pavilions fair,
+      Mixed with the knights' laughs; there, as I well know,
+
+    Rode Launcelot, the king of all the band,
+      And scowling Gauwaine, like the night in day,
+    And handsome Gareth, with his great white hand
+      Curl'd round the helm-crest, ere he join'd the fray;
+
+    And merry Dinadan with sharp dark face,
+      All true knights loved to see; and in the fight
+    Great Tristram, and though helmed you could trace
+      In all his bearing the frank noble knight;
+
+    And by him Palomydes, helmet off,
+      He fought, his 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 knight, and faithful, you have 'scaped the curse
+      In wonderful-wise; you have great store of bliss.
+
+    Yea, what if Father Launcelot ride out,
+      Can he not think of Guenevere's arms, round
+    Warm and lithe, about his neck, and shout
+      Till all the place grows joyful with the sound?
+
+    And when he lists can often see her face,
+      And think, 'Next month I kiss you, or next week,
+    And still you think of me': therefore the place
+      Grows very pleasant, whatsoever he seek.
+
+    But me, who ride alone, some carle shall find
+      Dead in my arms in the half-melted snow,
+    When all unkindly with the shifting wind,
+      The thaw comes on at Candlemas: I know
+
+    Indeed that they will say: 'This Galahad
+      If he had lived had been a right good knight;
+    Ah! poor chaste body!' but they will be glad,
+      Not most alone, but all, when in their sight
+
+    That very evening in their scarlet sleeves
+      The gay-dress'd minstrels sing; no maid will talk
+    Of sitting on my tomb, until the leaves,
+      Grown big upon the bushes of the walk,
+
+    East of the Palace-pleasaunce, make it hard
+      To see the minster therefrom: well-a-day!
+    Before the trees by autumn were well bared,
+      I saw a damozel with gentle play,
+
+    Within that very walk say last farewell
+      To her dear knight, just riding out to find
+    (Why should I choke to say it?) the Sangreal,
+      And their last kisses sunk into my mind,
+
+    Yea, for she stood lean'd forward on his breast,
+      Rather, scarce stood; the back of one dear hand,
+    That it might well be kiss'd, she held and press'd
+      Against his lips; long time they stood there, fann'd
+
+    By gentle gusts of quiet frosty wind,
+      Till Mador de la porte a-going by,
+    And my own horsehoofs roused them; they untwined,
+      And parted like a dream. In this way I,
+
+    With sleepy face bent to the chapel floor,
+      Kept musing half asleep, till suddenly
+    A sharp bell rang from close beside the door,
+      And I leapt up when something pass'd me by,
+
+    Shrill ringing going with it, still half blind
+      I stagger'd after, a great sense of awe
+    At every step kept gathering on my mind,
+      Thereat I have no marvel, for I saw
+
+    One sitting on the altar as a throne,
+      Whose face no man could say he did not know,
+    And though the bell still rang, he sat alone,
+      With raiment half blood-red, half white as snow.
+
+    Right so I fell upon the floor and knelt,
+      Not as one kneels in church when mass is said,
+    But in a heap, quite nerveless, for I felt
+      The first time what a thing was perfect dread.
+
+    But mightily the gentle voice came down:
+      'Rise up, and look and listen, Galahad,
+    Good knight of God, for you will see no frown
+      Upon my face; I come to make you glad.
+
+    For that you say that you are all alone,
+      I will be with you always, and fear not
+    You are uncared for, though no maiden moan
+      Above your empty tomb; for Launcelot,
+
+    He in good time shall be my servant too,
+      Meantime, take note whose sword first made him knight,
+    And who has loved him alway, yea, and who
+      Still trusts him alway, though in all men's sight,
+
+    He is just what you know, O Galahad,
+      This love is happy even as you say,
+    But would you for a little time be glad,
+      To make ME sorry long, day after day?
+
+    Her warm arms round his neck half throttle ME,
+      The hot love-tears burn deep like spots of lead,
+    Yea, and the years pass quick: right dismally
+      Will Launcelot at one time hang his head;
+
+    Yea, old and shrivell'd he shall win my love.
+      Poor Palomydes fretting out his soul!
+    Not always is he able, son, to move
+      His love, and do it honour: needs must roll
+
+    The proudest destrier sometimes in the dust,
+      And then 'tis weary work; he strives beside
+    Seem better than he is, so that his trust
+      Is always on what chances may betide;
+
+    And so he wears away, my servant, too,
+      When all these things are gone, and wretchedly
+    He sits and longs to moan for Iseult, who
+      Is no care now to Palomydes: see,
+
+    O good son Galahad, upon this day,
+      Now even, all these things are on your side,
+    But these you fight not for; look up, I say,
+      And see how I can love you, for no pride
+
+    Closes your eyes, no vain lust keeps them down.
+      See now you have ME always; following
+    That holy vision, Galahad, go on,
+      Until at last you come to ME to sing
+
+    In Heaven always, and to walk around
+      The garden where I am.' He ceased, my face
+    And wretched body fell upon the ground;
+      And when I look'd again, the holy place
+
+    Was empty; but right so the bell again
+      Came to the chapel-door, there entered
+    Two angels first, in white, without a stain,
+      And scarlet wings, then, after them, a bed
+
+    Four ladies bore, and set it down beneath
+      The very altar-step, and while for fear
+    I scarcely dared to move or draw my breath,
+      Those holy ladies gently came a-near,
+
+    And quite unarm'd me, saying: 'Galahad,
+      Rest here awhile and sleep, and take no thought
+    Of any other thing than being glad;
+      Hither the Sangreal will be shortly brought,
+
+    Yet must you sleep the while it stayeth here.'
+      Right so they went away, and I, being weary,
+    Slept long and dream'd of Heaven: the bell comes near,
+      I doubt it grows to morning. Miserere!
+
+ _Enter Two Angels in white, with scarlet wings; also, Four Ladies in
+     gowns of red and green; also an Angel, bearing in his hands a
+     surcoat of white, with a red cross._
+
+              AN ANGEL.
+
+    O servant of the high God, Galahad!
+      Rise and be arm'd: the Sangreal is gone forth
+    Through the great forest, and you must be had
+      Unto the sea that lieth on the north:
+
+    There shall you find the wondrous ship wherein
+      The spindles of King Solomon are laid,
+    And the sword that no man draweth without sin,
+      But if he be most pure: and there is stay'd,
+
+    Hard by, Sir Launcelot, whom you will meet
+      In some short space upon that ship: first, though,
+    Will come here presently that lady sweet,
+      Sister of Percival, whom you well know,
+
+    And with her Bors and Percival: stand now,
+      These ladies will to arm you.
+
+              FIRST LADY, _putting on the hauberk_.
+
+                                    Galahad,
+    That I may stand so close beneath your brow,
+      I, Margaret of Antioch, am glad.
+
+              SECOND LADY, _girding him with the sword_.
+
+    That I may stand and touch you with my hand,
+      O Galahad, I, Cecily, am glad.
+
+              THIRD LADY, _buckling on the spurs_.
+
+    That I may kneel while up above you stand,
+      And gaze at me, O holy Galahad,
+
+    I, Lucy, am most glad.
+
+              FOURTH LADY, _putting on the basnet_.
+
+                            O gentle knight,
+      That you bow down to us in reverence,
+    We are most glad, I, Katherine, with delight
+      Must needs fall trembling.
+
+              ANGEL, _putting on the crossed surcoat_.
+
+                                Galahad, we go hence,
+
+    For here, amid the straying of the snow,
+      Come Percival's sister, Bors, and Percival.
+                      [_The Four Ladies carry out the bed,
+                            and all go but_ Galahad.
+
+              GALAHAD.
+
+    How still and quiet everything seems now:
+      They come, too, for I hear the horsehoofs fall.
+
+              _Enter_ Sir Bors, Sir Percival, _and_ his Sister.
+
+    Fair friends and gentle lady, God you save!
+      A many marvels have been here to-night;
+    Tell me what news of Launcelot you have,
+      And has God's body ever been in sight?
+
+              SIR BORS.
+
+    Why, as for seeing that same holy thing,
+      As we were riding slowly side by side,
+    An hour ago, we heard a sweet voice sing,
+      And through the bare twigs saw a great light glide,
+
+    With many-colour'd raiment, but far off;
+      And so pass'd quickly: from the court nought good;
+    Poor merry Dinadan, that with jape and scoff
+      Kept us all merry, in a little wood
+
+    Was found all hack'd and dead: Sir Lionel
+      And Gauwaine have come back from the great quest,
+    Just merely shamed; and Lauvaine, who loved well
+      Your father Launcelot, at the king's behest
+
+    Went out to seek him, but was almost slain,
+      Perhaps is dead now; everywhere
+    The knights come foil'd from the great quest, in vain;
+      In vain they struggle for the vision fair.
+
+
+
+
+THE CHAPEL IN LYONESS
+
+
+
+
+THE CHAPEL IN LYONESS
+
+
+ SIR OZANA LE CURE HARDY. SIR GALAHAD. SIR BORS DE GANYS.
+
+              SIR OZANA.
+
+    All day long and every day,
+    From Christmas-Eve to Whit-Sunday,
+    Within that Chapel-aisle I lay,
+      And no man came a-near.
+
+    Naked to the waist was I,
+    And deep within my breast did lie,
+    Though no man any blood could spy,
+      The truncheon of a spear.
+
+    No meat did ever pass my lips
+    Those days. Alas! the sunlight slips
+    From off the gilded parclose, dips,
+      And night comes on apace.
+
+    My arms lay back behind my head;
+    Over my raised-up knees was spread
+    A samite cloth of white and red;
+      A rose lay on my face.
+
+    Many a time I tried to shout;
+    But as in dream of battle-rout,
+    My frozen speech would not well out;
+      I could not even weep.
+
+    With inward sigh I see the sun
+    Fade off the pillars one by one,
+    My heart faints when the day is done,
+      Because I cannot sleep.
+
+    Sometimes strange thoughts pass through my head;
+    Not like a tomb is this my bed,
+    Yet oft I think that I am dead;
+      That round my tomb is writ,
+
+    'Ozana of the hardy heart,
+      Knight of the Table Round,
+    Pray for his soul, lords, of your part;
+      A true knight he was found.'
+    Ah! me, I cannot fathom it.      [_He sleeps._
+
+              SIR GALAHAD.
+
+    All day long and every day,
+    Till his madness pass'd away,
+    I watch'd Ozana as he lay
+      Within the gilded screen.
+
+    All my singing moved him not;
+    As I sung my heart grew hot,
+    With the thought of Launcelot
+      Far away, I ween.
+
+    So I went a little space
+    From out the chapel, bathed my face
+    In the stream that runs apace
+      By the churchyard wall.
+
+    There I pluck'd a faint wild rose,
+    Hard by where the linden grows,
+    Sighing over silver rows
+      Of the lilies tall.
+
+    I laid the flower across his mouth;
+    The sparkling drops seem'd good for drouth;
+    He smiled, turn'd round towards the south.
+      Held up a golden tress.
+
+    The light smote on it from the west;
+    He drew the covering from his breast,
+    Against his heart that hair he prest;
+      Death him soon will bless.
+
+              SIR BORS.
+
+    I enter'd by the western door;
+      I saw a knight's helm lying there:
+    I raised my eyes from off the floor,
+      And caught the gleaming of his hair.
+
+    I stept full softly up to him;
+      I laid my chin upon his head;
+    I felt him smile; my eyes did swim,
+      I was so glad he was not dead.
+
+    I heard Ozana murmur low,
+      'There comes no sleep nor any love.'
+    But Galahad stoop'd and kiss'd his brow:
+      He shiver'd; I saw his pale lips move.
+
+              SIR OZANA.
+
+    There comes no sleep nor any love;
+      Ah me! I shiver with delight.
+    I am so weak I cannot move;
+      God move me to thee, dear, to-night!
+    Christ help! I have but little wit:
+    My life went wrong; I see it writ,
+
+    'Ozana of the hardy heart,
+      Knight of the Table Round,
+    Pray for his soul, lords, on your part;
+      A good knight he was found.'
+
+    Now I begin to fathom it.      [_He dies._
+
+              SIR BORS.
+
+    Galahad sits dreamily;
+    What strange things may his eyes see,
+    Great blue eyes fix'd full on me?
+    On his soul, Lord, have mercy.
+
+              SIR GALAHAD.
+
+    Ozana, shall I pray for thee?
+    Her cheek is laid to thine;
+    No long time hence, also I see
+      Thy wasted fingers twine
+
+    Within the tresses of her hair
+      That shineth gloriously,
+    Thinly outspread in the clear air
+      Against the jasper sea.
+
+
+
+
+SIR PETER HARPDON'S END
+
+
+
+
+SIR PETER HARPDON'S END
+
+
+ _In an English Castle in Poictou._
+
+ Sir Peter Harpdon, _a Gascon knight in the English service, and_ John
+     Curzon, _his lieutenant_.
+
+              JOHN CURZON.
+
+    Of those three prisoners, that before you came
+    We took down at St. John's hard by the mill,
+    Two are good masons; we have tools enough,
+    And you have skill to set them working.
+
+
+              SIR PETER.
+
+                                            So:
+    What are their names?
+
+              JOHN CURZON.
+
+                          Why, Jacques Aquadent,
+    And Peter Plombiere, but,
+
+              SIR PETER.
+
+                              What colour'd hair
+    Has Peter now? has Jacques got bow legs?
+
+              JOHN CURZON.
+
+    Why, sir, you jest: what matters Jacques' hair,
+    Or Peter's legs to us?
+
+              SIR PETER.
+
+                            O! John, John, John!
+    Throw all your mason's tools down the deep well,
+    Hang Peter up and Jacques; They're no good,
+    We shall not build, man.
+
+              JOHN CURZON (_going_).
+
+                              Shall I call the guard
+    To hang them, sir? and yet, sir, for the tools,
+    We'd better keep them still; sir, fare you well.
+                                      [_Muttering as he goes._
+    What have I done that he should jape at me?
+    And why not build? the walls are weak enough,
+    And we've two masons and a heap of tools.
+                                      [_Goes, still muttering._
+
+              SIR PETER.
+
+    To think a man should have a lump like that
+    For his lieutenant! I must call him back,
+    Or else, as surely as St. George is dead,
+    He'll hang our friends the masons: here, John! John!
+
+              JOHN CURZON.
+
+    At your good service, sir.
+
+              SIR PETER.
+
+                                Come now, and talk
+    This weighty matter out; there, we've no stone
+    To mend our walls with, neither brick nor stone.
+
+              JOHN CURZON.
+
+    There is a quarry, sir, some ten miles off.
+
+              SIR PETER.
+
+    We are not strong enough to send ten men
+    Ten miles to fetch us stone enough to build.
+    In three hours' time they would be taken or slain,
+    The cursed Frenchmen ride abroad so thick.
+
+              JOHN CURZON.
+
+    But we can send some villaynes to get stone.
+
+              SIR PETER.
+
+    Alas! John, that we cannot bring them back,
+    They would go off to Clisson or Sanxere,
+    And tell them we were weak in walls and men,
+    Then down go we; for, look you, times are changed,
+    And now no longer does the country shake
+    At sound of English names; our captains fade
+    From off our muster-rolls. At Lusac bridge
+    I daresay you may even yet see the hole
+    That Chandos beat in dying; far in Spain
+    Pembroke is prisoner; Phelton prisoner here;
+    Manny lies buried in the Charterhouse;
+    Oliver Clisson turn'd these years agone;
+    The Captal died in prison; and, over all,
+    Edward the prince lies underneath the ground,
+    Edward the king is dead, at Westminster
+    The carvers smooth the curls of his long beard.
+    Everything goes to rack--eh! and we too.
+    Now, Curzon, listen; if they come, these French,
+    Whom have I got to lean on here, but you?
+    A man can die but once, will you die then,
+    Your brave sword in your hand, thoughts in your heart
+    Of all the deeds we have done here in France--
+    And yet may do? So God will have your soul,
+    Whoever has your body.
+
+              JOHN CURZON.
+
+                            Why, sir, I
+    Will fight till the last moment, until then
+    Will do whate'er you tell me. Now I see
+    We must e'en leave the walls; well, well, perhaps
+    They're stronger than I think for; pity, though!
+    For some few tons of stone, if Guesclin comes.
+
+              SIR PETER.
+
+    Farewell, John, pray you watch the Gascons well,
+    I doubt them.
+
+              JOHN CURZON.
+
+                  Truly, sir, I will watch well.      [_Goes._
+
+              SIR PETER.
+
+    Farewell, good lump! and yet, when all is said,
+    'Tis a good lump. Why then, if Guesclin comes;
+    Some dozen stones from his petrariae,
+    And, under shelter of his crossbows, just
+    An hour's steady work with pickaxes,
+    Then a great noise--some dozen swords and glaives
+    A-playing on my basnet all at once,
+    And little more cross purposes on earth
+    For me.
+            Now this is hard: a month ago,
+    And a few minutes' talk had set things right
+    'Twixt me and Alice; if she had a doubt,
+    As, may Heaven bless her! I scarce think she had,
+    'Twas but their hammer, hammer in her ears,
+    Of how Sir Peter fail'd at Lusac Bridge:
+    And how he was grown moody of late days;
+    And how Sir Lambert, think now! his dear friend,
+    His sweet, dear cousin, could not but confess
+    That Peter's talk tended towards the French,
+    Which he, for instance Lambert, was glad of,
+    Being, Lambert, you see, on the French side.
+                                                  Well,
+    If I could but have seen her on that day,
+    Then, when they sent me off!
+                                  I like to think,
+    Although it hurts me, makes my head twist, what,
+    If I had seen her, what I should have said,
+    What she, my darling, would have said and done.
+    As thus perchance.
+                        To find her sitting there,
+    In the window-seat, not looking well at all,
+    Crying perhaps, and I say quietly:
+    Alice! she looks up, chokes a sob, looks grave,
+    Changes from pale to red, but, ere she speaks,
+    Straightway I kneel down there on both my knees,
+    And say: O lady, have I sinn'd, your knight?
+    That still you ever let me walk alone
+    In the rose garden, that you sing no songs
+    When I am by, that ever in the dance
+    You quietly walk away when I come near?
+    Now that I have you, will you go, think you?
+
+      Ere she could answer I would speak again,
+    Still kneeling there.
+                          What! they have frighted you,
+    By hanging burs, and clumsily carven puppets,
+    Round my good name; but afterwards, my love,
+    I will say what this means; this moment, see!
+    Do I kneel here, and can you doubt me? Yea:
+    For she would put her hands upon my face:
+    Yea, that is best, yea feel, love, am I changed?
+    And she would say: Good knight, come, kiss my lips!
+    And afterwards as I sat there would say:
+
+    Please a poor silly girl by telling me
+    What all those things they talk of really were,
+    For it is true you did not help Chandos,
+    And true, poor love! you could not come to me
+    When I was in such peril.
+                              I should say:
+    I am like Balen, all things turn to blame.
+    I did not come to you? At Bergerath
+    The constable had held us close shut up,
+    If from the barriers I had made three steps,
+    I should have been but slain; at Lusac, too,
+    We struggled in a marish half the day,
+    And came too late at last: you know, my love,
+    How heavy men and horses are all arm'd.
+    All that Sir Lambert said was pure, unmix'd,
+    Quite groundless lies; as you can think, sweet love.
+
+    She, holding tight my hand as we sat there,
+    Started a little at Sir Lambert's name,
+    But otherwise she listen'd scarce at all
+    To what I said. Then with moist, weeping eyes,
+    And quivering lips, that scarcely let her speak,
+    She said: I love you.
+                          Other words were few,
+    The remnant of that hour; her hand smooth'd down
+    My foolish head; she kiss'd me all about
+    My face, and through the tangles of my beard
+    Her little fingers crept!
+
+                              O God, my Alice,
+    Not this good way: my lord but sent and said
+    That Lambert's sayings were taken at their worth,
+    Therefore that day I was to start, and keep
+    This hold against the French; and I am here:
+                                [_Looks out of the window._
+    A sprawling lonely garde with rotten walls,
+    And no one to bring aid if Guesclin comes,
+    Or any other.
+                  There's a pennon now!
+    At last.
+              But not the constable's: whose arms,
+    I wonder, does it bear? Three golden rings
+    On a red ground; my cousin's by the rood!
+    Well, I should like to kill him, certainly,
+    But to be kill'd by him:      [_A trumpet sounds._
+                              That's for a herald;
+    I doubt this does not mean assaulting yet.
+
+              _Enter_ John Curzon.
+
+    What says the herald of our cousin, sir?
+
+              JOHN CURZON.
+
+    So please you, sir, concerning your estate,
+    He has good will to talk with you.
+
+              SIR PETER.
+
+                                        Outside,
+    I'll talk with him, close by the gate St. Ives.
+    Is he unarm'd?
+
+              JOHN CURZON.
+
+                    Yea, sir, in a long gown.
+
+              SIR PETER.
+
+    Then bid them bring me hither my furr'd gown
+    With the long sleeves, and under it I'll wear,
+    By Lambert's leave, a secret coat of mail;
+    And will you lend me, John, your little axe?
+    I mean the one with Paul wrought on the blade?
+    And I will carry it inside my sleeve,
+    Good to be ready always; you, John, go
+    And bid them set up many suits of arms,
+    Bows, archgays, lances, in the base-court, and
+    Yourself, from the south postern setting out,
+    With twenty men, be ready to break through
+    Their unguarded rear when I cry out, St. George!
+
+              JOHN CURZON.
+
+    How, sir! will you attack him unawares,
+    And slay him unarm'd?
+
+              SIR PETER.
+
+                          Trust me, John, I know
+    The reason why he comes here with sleeved gown,
+    Fit to hide axes up. So, let us go.      [_They go._
+
+
+ _Outside the castle by the great gate;_ Sir Lambert _and_ Sir Peter
+     _seated; guards attending each, the rest of_ Sir Lambert's _men
+     drawn up about a furlong off._
+
+              SIR PETER.
+
+    And if I choose to take the losing side
+    Still, does it hurt you?
+
+              SIR LAMBERT.
+
+                              O! no hurt to me;
+    I see you sneering, Why take trouble then,
+    Seeing you love me not? Look you, our house
+    (Which, taken altogether, I love much)
+    Had better be upon the right side now,
+    If, once for all, it wishes to bear rule
+    As such a house should: cousin, you're too wise
+    To feed your hope up fat, that this fair France
+    Will ever draw two ways again; this side
+    The French, wrong-headed, all a-jar
+    With envious longings; and the other side
+    The order'd English, orderly led on
+    By those two Edwards through all wrong and right,
+    And muddling right and wrong to a thick broth
+    With that long stick, their strength. This is all changed,
+    The true French win, on either side you have
+    Cool-headed men, good at a tilting match,
+    And good at setting battles in array,
+    And good at squeezing taxes at due time;
+    Therefore by nature we French being here
+    Upon our own big land:      [_Sir Peter laughs aloud._
+                            Well, Peter! well!
+    What makes you laugh?
+
+              SIR PETER.
+
+                          Hearing you sweat to prove
+    All this I know so well; but you have read
+    The siege of Troy?
+
+              SIR LAMBERT.
+
+                      O! yea, I know it well.
+
+              SIR PETER.
+
+    There! they were wrong, as wrong as men could be
+    For, as I think, they found it such delight
+    To see fair Helen going through their town;
+    Yea, any little common thing she did
+    (As stooping to pick a flower) seem'd so strange,
+    So new in its great beauty, that they said:
+    Here we will keep her living in this town,
+    Till all burns up together. And so, fought,
+    In a mad whirl of knowing they were wrong;
+    Yea, they fought well, and ever, like a man
+    That hangs legs off the ground by both his hands,
+    Over some great height, did they struggle sore,
+    Quite sure to slip at last; wherefore, take note
+    How almost all men, reading that sad siege,
+    Hold for the Trojans; as I did at least,
+    Thought Hector the best knight a long way:
+                                                Now
+    Why should I not do this thing that I think;
+    For even when I come to count the gains,
+    I have them my side: men will talk, you know
+    (We talk of Hector, dead so long agone,)
+    When I am dead, of how this Peter clung
+    To what he thought the right; of how he died,
+    Perchance, at last, doing some desperate deed
+    Few men would care do now, and this is gain
+    To me, as ease and money is to you.
+    Moreover, too, I like the straining game
+    Of striving well to hold up things that fall;
+    So one becomes great. See you! in good times
+    All men live well together, and you, too,
+    Live dull and happy: happy? not so quick,
+    Suppose sharp thoughts begin to burn you up?
+    Why then, but just to fight as I do now,
+    A halter round my neck, would be great bliss.
+    O! I am well off.                            [_Aside._
+                      Talk, and talk, and talk,
+    I know this man has come to murder me,
+    And yet I talk still.
+
+              SIR LAMBERT.
+
+                          If your side were right,
+    You might be, though you lost; but if I said,
+    'You are a traitor, being, as you are,
+    Born Frenchman.' What are Edwards unto you,
+    Or Richards?
+
+              SIR PETER.
+
+                  Nay, hold there, my Lambert, hold!
+    For fear your zeal should bring you to some harm,
+    Don't call me traitor.
+
+              SIR LAMBERT.
+
+                            Furthermore, my knight,
+    Men call you slippery on your losing side,
+    When at Bordeaux I was ambassador,
+    I heard them say so, and could scarce say: Nay.
+                             [_He takes hold of something in
+                                  his sleeve, and rises._
+
+              SIR PETER, _rising_.
+
+    They lied: and you lie, not for the first time.
+    What have you got there, fumbling up your sleeve,
+    A stolen purse?
+
+              SIR LAMBERT.
+
+                    Nay, liar in your teeth!
+    Dead liar too; St. Denis and St. Lambert!
+                      [_Strikes at_ Sir Peter _with a dagger_.
+
+              SIR PETER, _striking him flatlings with his axe_.
+
+    How thief! thief! thief! so there, fair thief, so there,
+    St. George Guienne! glaives for the castellan!
+    You French, you are but dead, unless you lay
+    Your spears upon the earth. St. George Guienne!
+
+    Well done, John Curzon, how he has them now.
+
+
+ _In the Castle._
+
+              JOHN CURZON.
+
+    What shall we do with all these prisoners, sir?
+
+              SIR PETER.
+
+    Why, put them all to ransom, those that can
+    Pay anything, but not too light though, John,
+    Seeing we have them on the hip: for those
+    That have no money, that being certified,
+    Why, turn them out of doors before they spy;
+    But bring Sir Lambert guarded unto me.
+
+              JOHN CURZON.
+
+    I will, fair sir.                           [_He goes._
+
+              SIR PETER.
+
+                      I do not wish to kill him,
+    Although I think I ought; he shall go mark'd,
+    By all the saints, though!
+              _Enter_ Lambert _guarded_.
+                                Now, Sir Lambert, now!
+    What sort of death do you expect to get,
+    Being taken this way?
+
+              SIR LAMBERT.
+
+                          Cousin! cousin! think!
+    I am your own blood; may God pardon me!
+    I am not fit to die; if you knew all,
+    All I have done since I was young and good.
+    O! you would give me yet another chance,
+    As God would, that I might wash all clear out,
+    By serving you and Him. Let me go now!
+    And I will pay you down more golden crowns
+    Of ransom than the king would!
+
+              SIR PETER.
+
+                                    Well, stand back,
+    And do not touch me! No, you shall not die,
+    Nor yet pay ransom. You, John Curzon, cause
+    Some carpenters to build a scaffold, high,
+    Outside the gate; when it is built, sound out
+    To all good folks, 'Come, see a traitor punish'd!'
+    Take me my knight, and set him up thereon,
+    And let the hangman shave his head quite clean,
+    And cut his ears off close up to the head;
+    And cause the minstrels all the while to play
+    Soft music, and good singing; for this day
+    Is my high day of triumph; is it not,
+    Sir Lambert?
+
+              SIR LAMBERT.
+
+                  Ah! on your own blood,
+    Own name, you heap this foul disgrace? you dare,
+    With hands and fame thus sullied, to go back
+    And take the lady Alice?
+
+              SIR PETER.
+
+                              Say her name
+    Again, and you are dead, slain here by me.
+    Why should I talk with you? I'm master here,
+    And do not want your schooling; is it not
+    My mercy that you are not dangling dead
+    There in the gateway with a broken neck?
+
+              SIR LAMBERT.
+
+    Such mercy! why not kill me then outright?
+    To die is nothing; but to live that all
+    May point their fingers! yea, I'd rather die.
+
+              JOHN CURZON.
+
+    Why, will it make you any uglier man
+    To lose your ears? they're much too big for you,
+    You ugly Judas!
+
+              SIR PETER.
+
+                    Hold, John!      [_To_ Lambert.
+                                That's your choice,
+    To die, mind! Then you shall die: Lambert mine,
+    I thank you now for choosing this so well,
+    It saves me much perplexity and doubt;
+    Perchance an ill deed too, for half I count
+    This sparing traitors is an ill deed.
+                                          Well,
+    Lambert, die bravely, and we're almost friends.
+
+              SIR LAMBERT, _grovelling_.
+
+    O God! this is a fiend and not a man;
+    Will some one save me from him? help, help, help!
+    I will not die.
+
+              SIR PETER.
+
+                    Why, what is this I see?
+    A man who is a knight, and bandied words
+    So well just now with me, is lying down,
+    Gone mad for fear like this! So, so, you thought
+    You knew the worst, and might say what you pleased.
+    I should have guess'd this from a man like you.
+    Eh! righteous Job would give up skin for skin,
+    Yea, all a man can have for simple life,
+    And we talk fine, yea, even a hound like this,
+    Who needs must know that when he dies, deep hell
+    Will hold him fast for ever, so fine we talk,
+    'Would rather die,' all that. Now sir, get up!
+    And choose again: shall it be head sans ears,
+    Or trunk sans head?
+                        John Curzon, pull him up!
+    What, life then? go and build the scaffold, John.
+      Lambert, I hope that never on this earth
+    We meet again; that you'll turn out a monk,
+    And mend the life I give you, so farewell,
+    I'm sorry you're a rascal. John, despatch.
+
+
+ _In the French camp before the Castle._
+
+ Sir Peter _prisoner_, Guesclin, Clisson, Sir Lambert.
+
+              SIR PETER.
+
+    So now is come the ending of my life;
+    If I could clear this sickening lump away
+    That sticks in my dry throat, and say a word,
+    Guesclin might listen.
+
+              GUESCLIN.
+
+                            Tell me, fair sir knight,
+    If you have been clean liver before God,
+    And then you need not fear much; as for me,
+    I cannot say I hate you, yet my oath,
+    And cousin Lambert's ears here clench the thing.
+
+              SIR PETER.
+
+    I knew you could not hate me, therefore I
+    Am bold to pray for life; 'twill harm your cause
+    To hang knights of good name, harms here in France
+    I have small doubt, at any rate hereafter
+    Men will remember you another way
+    Than I should care to be remember'd, ah!
+    Although hot lead runs through me for my blood,
+    All this falls cold as though I said, Sweet lords,
+    Give back my falcon!
+                          See how young I am,
+    Do you care altogether more for France,
+    Say rather one French faction, than for all
+    The state of Christendom? a gallant knight,
+    As (yea, by God!) I have been, is more worth
+    Than many castles; will you bring this death,
+    For a mere act of justice, on my head?
+
+      Think how it ends all, death! all other things
+    Can somehow be retrieved, yea, send me forth
+    Naked and maimed, rather than slay me here;
+    Then somehow will I get me other clothes,
+    And somehow will I get me some poor horse,
+    And, somehow clad in poor old rusty arms,
+    Will ride and smite among the serried glaives,
+    Fear not death so; for I can tilt right well,
+    Let me not say I could; I know all tricks,
+    That sway the sharp sword cunningly; ah you,
+    You, my Lord Clisson, in the other days
+    Have seen me learning these, yea, call to mind,
+    How in the trodden corn by Chartres town,
+    When you were nearly swooning from the back
+    Of your black horse, those three blades slid at once
+    From off my sword's edge; pray for me, my lord!
+
+              CLISSON.
+
+    Nay, this is pitiful, to see him die.
+    My Lord the Constable, I pray you note
+    That you are losing some few thousand crowns
+    By slaying this man; also think: his lands
+    Along the Garonne river lie for leagues,
+    And are right rich, a many mills he has,
+    Three abbeys of grey monks do hold of him:
+    Though wishing well for Clement, as we do,
+    I know the next heir, his old uncle, well,
+    Who does not care two deniers for the knight
+    As things go now, but slay him, and then see,
+    How he will bristle up like any perch,
+    With curves of spears. What! do not doubt, my lord,
+    You'll get the money, this man saved my life,
+    And I will buy him for two thousand crowns;
+    Well, five then: eh! what! No again? well then,
+    Ten thousand crowns?
+
+              GUESCLIN.
+
+                          My sweet lord, much I grieve
+    I cannot please you, yea, good sooth, I grieve
+    This knight must die, as verily he must;
+    For I have sworn it, so men take him out,
+    Use him not roughly.
+
+              SIR LAMBERT, _coming forward_.
+
+                          Music, do you know,
+    Music will suit you well, I think, because
+    You look so mild, like Laurence being grill'd;
+    Or perhaps music soft and slow, because
+    This is high day of triumph unto me,
+    Is it not, Peter?
+                      You are frighten'd, though,
+    Eh! you are pale, because this hurts you much,
+    Whose life was pleasant to you, not like mine,
+    You ruin'd wretch! Men mock me in the streets,
+    Only in whispers loud, because I am
+    Friend of the constable; will this please you,
+    Unhappy Peter? once a-going home,
+    Without my servants, and a little drunk,
+    At midnight through the lone dim lamp-lit streets.
+    A whore came up and spat into my eyes,
+    Rather to blind me than to make me see,
+    But she was very drunk, and tottering back,
+    Even in the middle of her laughter fell
+    And cut her head against the pointed stones,
+    While I lean'd on my staff, and look'd at her,
+    And cried, being drunk.
+                            Girls would not spit at you.
+    You are so handsome, I think verily
+    Most ladies would be glad to kiss your eyes,
+    And yet you will be hung like a cur dog
+    Five minutes hence, and grow black in the face,
+    And curl your toes up. Therefore I am glad.
+
+      Guess why I stand and talk this nonsense now,
+    With Guesclin getting ready to play chess,
+    And Clisson doing something with his sword,
+    I can't see what, talking to Guesclin though,
+    I don't know what about, perhaps of you.
+    But, cousin Peter, while I stroke your beard,
+    Let me say this, I'd like to tell you now
+    That your life hung upon a game of chess,
+    That if, say, my squire Robert here should beat,
+    Why you should live, but hang if I beat him;
+    Then guess, clever Peter, what I should do then:
+    Well, give it up? why, Peter, I should let
+    My squire Robert beat me, then you would think
+    That you were safe, you know; Eh? not at all,
+    But I should keep you three days in some hold,
+    Giving you salt to eat, which would be kind,
+    Considering the tax there is on salt;
+    And afterwards should let you go, perhaps?
+    No I should not, but I should hang you, sir,
+    With a red rope in lieu of mere grey rope.
+
+    But I forgot, you have not told me yet
+    If you can guess why I talk nonsense thus,
+    Instead of drinking wine while you are hang'd?
+    You are not quick at guessing, give it up.
+    This is the reason; here I hold your hand,
+    And watch you growing paler, see you writhe
+    And this, my Peter, is a joy so dear,
+    I cannot by all striving tell you how
+    I love it, nor I think, good man, would you
+    Quite understand my great delight therein;
+    You, when you had me underneath you once,
+    Spat as it were, and said, 'Go take him out,'
+    That they might do that thing to me whereat,
+    E'en now this long time off I could well shriek,
+    And then you tried forget I ever lived,
+    And sunk your hating into other things;
+    While I: St. Denis! though, I think you'll faint,
+    Your lips are grey so; yes, you will, unless
+    You let it out and weep like a hurt child;
+    Hurrah! you do now. Do not go just yet,
+    For I am Alice, am right like her now,
+    Will you not kiss me on the lips, my love?
+
+              CLISSON.
+
+    You filthy beast, stand back and let him go,
+    Or by God's eyes I'll choke you!
+                              [_Kneeling to_ Sir Peter.
+                                      Fair sir knight
+    I kneel upon my knees and pray to you
+    That you would pardon me for this your death;
+    God knows how much I wish you still alive,
+    Also how heartily I strove to save
+    Your life at this time; yea, he knows quite well,
+    (I swear it, so forgive me!) how I would,
+    If it were possible, give up my life
+    Upon this grass for yours; fair knight, although,
+    He knowing all things knows this thing too, well,
+    Yet when you see his face some short time hence,
+    Tell him I tried to save you.
+
+              SIR PETER.
+
+                                  O! my lord,
+    I cannot say this is as good as life,
+    But yet it makes me feel far happier now,
+    And if at all, after a thousand years,
+    I see God's face, I will speak loud and bold,
+    And tell Him you were kind, and like Himself;
+    Sir, may God bless you!
+                            Did you note how I
+    Fell weeping just now? pray you, do not think
+    That Lambert's taunts did this, I hardly heard
+    The base things that he said, being deep in thought
+    Of all things that have happen'd since I was
+    A little child; and so at last I thought
+    Of my true lady: truly, sir, it seem'd
+    No longer gone than yesterday, that this
+    Was the sole reason God let me be born
+    Twenty-five years ago, that I might love
+    Her, my sweet lady, and be loved by her;
+    This seem'd so yesterday, to-day death comes,
+    And is so bitter strong, I cannot see
+    Why I was born.
+                    But as a last request,
+    I pray you, O kind Clisson, send some man,
+    Some good man, mind you, to say how I died,
+    And take my last love to her: fare-you-well,
+    And may God keep you; I must go now, lest
+    I grow too sick with thinking on these things;
+    Likewise my feet are wearied of the earth,
+    From whence I shall be lifted upright soon.
+                                           [_As he goes._
+    Ah me! shamed too, I wept at fear of death;
+    And yet not so, I only wept because
+    There was no beautiful lady to kiss me
+    Before I died, and sweetly wish good speed
+    From her dear lips. O for some lady, though
+    I saw her ne'er before; Alice, my love,
+    I do not ask for; Clisson was right kind,
+    If he had been a woman, I should die
+    Without this sickness: but I am all wrong,
+    So wrong, and hopelessly afraid to die.
+    There, I will go.
+                      My God! how sick I am,
+    If only she could come and kiss me now.
+
+
+ _The Hotel de la Barde, Bordeaux._
+
+ _The_ Lady Alice de la Barde _looking out of a window into the street_.
+
+    No news yet! surely, still he holds his own:
+    That garde stands well; I mind me passing it
+    Some months ago; God grant the walls are strong!
+    I heard some knights say something yestereve,
+    I tried hard to forget: words far apart
+    Struck on my heart something like this; one said:
+    What eh! a Gascon with an English name,
+    Harpdon? then nought, but afterwards: Poictou.
+    As one who answers to a question ask'd,
+    Then carelessly regretful came: No, no.
+    Whereto in answer loud and eagerly,
+    One said: Impossible? Christ, what foul play!
+    And went off angrily; and while thenceforth
+    I hurried gaspingly afraid, I heard:
+    Guesclin; Five thousand men-at-arms; Clisson.
+    My heart misgives me it is all in vain
+    I send these succours; and in good time there
+    Their trumpet sounds: ah! here they are; good knights,
+    God up in Heaven keep you.
+                                If they come
+    And find him prisoner, for I can't believe
+    Guesclin will slay him, even though they storm.
+    The last horse turns the corner.
+                                      God in Heaven!
+    What have I got to thinking of at last!
+    That thief I will not name is with Guesclin,
+    Who loves him for his lands. My love! my love!
+    O, if I lose you after all the past,
+    What shall I do?
+                      I cannot bear the noise
+    And light street out there, with this thought alive,
+    Like any curling snake within my brain;
+    Let me just hide my head within these soft
+    Deep cushions, there to try and think it out.
+                                [_Lying in the window-seat._
+    I cannot hear much noise now, and I think
+    That I shall go to sleep: it all sounds dim
+    And faint, and I shall soon forget most things;
+    Yea, almost that I am alive and here;
+    It goes slow, comes slow, like a big mill-wheel
+    On some broad stream, with long green weeds a-sway,
+    And soft and slow it rises and it falls,
+    Still going onward.
+                        Lying so, one kiss,
+    And I should be in Avalon asleep,
+    Among the poppies, and the yellow flowers;
+    And they should brush my cheek, my hair being spread
+    Far out among the stems; soft mice and small
+    Eating and creeping all about my feet,
+    Red shod and tired; and the flies should come
+    Creeping o'er my broad eyelids unafraid;
+    And there should be a noise of water going,
+    Clear blue fresh water breaking on the slates,
+    Likewise the flies should creep: God's eyes! God help!
+    A trumpet? I will run fast, leap adown
+    The slippery sea-stairs, where the crabs fight.
+                                                    Ah!
+    I was half dreaming, but the trumpet's true;
+    He stops here at our house. The Clisson arms?
+    Ah, now for news. But I must hold my heart,
+    And be quite gentle till he is gone out;
+    And afterwards: but he is still alive,
+    He must be still alive.
+
+              _Enter a_ Squire _of_ Clisson's.
+
+                            Good day, fair sir,
+    I give you welcome, knowing whence you come.
+
+              SQUIRE.
+
+    My Lady Alice de la Barde, I come
+    From Oliver Clisson, knight and mighty lord,
+    Bringing you tidings: I make bold to hope
+    You will not count me villain, even if
+    They wring your heart, nor hold me still in hate;
+    For I am but a mouthpiece after all,
+    A mouthpiece, too, of one who wishes well
+    To you and your's.
+
+              ALICE.
+
+                        Can you talk faster, sir,
+    Get over all this quicker? fix your eyes
+    On mine, I pray you, and whate'er you see,
+    Still go on talking fast, unless I fall,
+    Or bid you stop.
+
+              SQUIRE.
+
+                      I pray your pardon then,
+    And, looking in your eyes, fair lady, say
+    I am unhappy that your knight is dead.
+    Take heart, and listen! let me tell you all.
+    We were five thousand goodly men-at-arms,
+    And scant five hundred had he in that hold:
+    His rotten sand-stone walls were wet with rain,
+    And fell in lumps wherever a stone hit;
+    Yet for three days about the barrier there
+    The deadly glaives were gather'd, laid across,
+    And push'd and pull'd; the fourth our engines came;
+    But still amid the crash of falling walls,
+    And roar of lombards, rattle of hard bolts,
+    The steady bow-strings flash'd, and still stream'd out
+    St. George's banner, and the seven swords,
+    And still they cried: St. George Guienne! until
+    Their walls were flat as Jericho's of old,
+    And our rush came, and cut them from the keep.
+
+              ALICE.
+
+    Stop, sir, and tell me if you slew him then,
+    And where he died, if you can really mean
+    That Peter Harpdon, the good knight, is dead?
+
+              SQUIRE.
+
+    Fair lady, in the base-court:
+
+              ALICE.
+
+                                  What base-court?
+    What do you talk of? Nay, go on, go on;
+    'Twas only something gone within my head:
+    Do you not know, one turns one's head round quick,
+    And something cracks there with sore pain? go on,
+    And still look at my eyes.
+
+              SQUIRE.
+
+                                Almost alone,
+    There in the base-court fought he with his sword,
+    Using his left hand much, more than the wont
+    Of most knights now-a-days; our men gave back,
+    For wheresoever he hit a downright blow,
+    Some one fell bleeding, for no plate could hold
+    Against the sway of body and great arm;
+    Till he grew tired, and some man (no! not I,
+    I swear not I, fair lady, as I live!)
+    Thrust at him with a glaive between the knees,
+    And threw him; down he fell, sword undermost;
+    Many fell on him, crying out their cries,
+    Tore his sword from him, tore his helm off, and:
+
+              ALICE.
+
+    Yea, slew him: I am much too young to live,
+    Fair God, so let me die!
+                              You have done well,
+    Done all your message gently, pray you go,
+    Our knights will make you cheer; moreover, take
+    This bag of franks for your expenses.
+                                      [_The Squire kneels._
+                                          But
+    You do not go; still looking at my face,
+    You kneel! what, squire, do you mock me then?
+    You need not tell me who has set you on,
+    But tell me only, 'tis a made-up tale.
+    You are some lover may-be or his friend;
+    Sir, if you loved me once, or your friend loved,
+    Think, is it not enough that I kneel down
+    And kiss your feet? your jest will be right good
+    If you give in now; carry it too far,
+    And 'twill be cruel: not yet? but you weep
+    Almost, as though you loved me; love me then,
+    And go to Heaven by telling all your sport,
+    And I will kiss you then with all my heart,
+    Upon the mouth: O! what can I do then
+    To move you?
+
+              SQUIRE.
+
+                  Lady fair, forgive me still!
+    You know I am so sorry, but my tale
+    Is not yet finish'd:
+                          So they bound his hands,
+    And brought him tall and pale to Guesclin's tent,
+    Who, seeing him, leant his head upon his hand,
+    And ponder'd somewhile, afterwards, looking up:
+    Fair dame, what shall I say?
+
+              ALICE.
+
+                                  Yea, I know now,
+    Good squire, you may go now with my thanks.
+
+              SQUIRE.
+
+    Yet, lady, for your own sake I say this,
+    Yea, for my own sake, too, and Clisson's sake.
+    When Guesclin told him he must be hanged soon,
+    Within a while he lifted up his head
+    And spoke for his own life; not crouching, though,
+    As abjectly afraid to die, nor yet
+    Sullenly brave as many a thief will die,
+    Nor yet as one that plays at japes with God:
+    Few words he spoke; not so much what he said
+    Moved us, I think, as, saying it, there played
+    Strange tenderness from that big soldier there
+    About his pleading; eagerness to live
+    Because folk loved him, and he loved them back,
+    And many gallant plans unfinish'd now
+    For ever. Clisson's heart, which may God bless!
+    Was moved to pray for him, but all in vain;
+    Wherefore I bring this message:
+                                    That he waits,
+    Still loving you, within the little church
+    Whose windows, with the one eye of the light
+    Over the altar, every night behold
+    The great dim broken walls he strove to keep!
+
+    There my Lord Clisson did his burial well.
+    Now, lady, I will go: God give you rest!
+
+              ALICE.
+
+    Thank Clisson from me, squire, and farewell!
+    And now to keep myself from going mad.
+    Christ! I have been a many times to church,
+    And, ever since my mother taught me prayers,
+    Have used them daily, but to-day I wish
+    To pray another way; come face to face,
+    O Christ, that I may clasp your knees and pray
+    I know not what; at any rate come now
+    From one of many places where you are,
+    Either in Heaven amid thick angel wings,
+    Or sitting on the altar strange with gems,
+    Or high up in the duskness of the apse;
+    Let us go, You and I, a long way off,
+    To the little damp, dark, Poitevin church.
+    While you sit on the coffin in the dark,
+    Will I lie down, my face on the bare stone
+    Between your feet, and chatter anything
+    I have heard long ago. What matters it
+    So I may keep you there, your solemn face
+    And long hair even-flowing on each side,
+    Until you love me well enough to speak,
+    And give me comfort? yea, till o'er your chin,
+    And cloven red beard the great tears roll down
+    In pity for my misery, and I die,
+    Kissed over by you.
+                        Eh Guesclin! if I were
+    Like Countess Mountfort now, that kiss'd the knight,
+    Across the salt sea come to fight for her:
+    Ah! just to go about with many knights,
+    Wherever you went, and somehow on one day,
+    In a thick wood to catch you off your guard,
+    Let you find, you and your some fifty friends,
+    Nothing but arrows wheresoe'er you turn'd,
+    Yea, and red crosses, great spears over them;
+    And so, between a lane of my true men,
+    To walk up pale and stern and tall, and with
+    My arms on my surcoat, and his therewith,
+    And then to make you kneel, O knight Guesclin;
+    And then: alas! alas! when all is said,
+    What could I do but let you go again,
+    Being pitiful woman? I get no revenge,
+    Whatever happens; and I get no comfort:
+    I am but weak, and cannot move my feet,
+    But as men bid me.
+                        Strange I do not die.
+    Suppose this has not happen'd after all?
+    I will lean out again and watch for news.
+
+    I wonder how long I can still feel thus,
+    As though I watch'd for news, feel as I did
+    Just half-an-hour ago, before this news.
+    How all the street is humming, some men sing,
+    And some men talk; some look up at the house,
+    Then lay their heads together and look grave:
+    Their laughter pains me sorely in the heart;
+    Their thoughtful talking makes my head turn round:
+    Yea, some men sing, what is it then they sing?
+    Eh? Launcelot, and love and fate and death:
+    They ought to sing of him who was as wight
+    As Launcelot or Wade, and yet avail'd
+    Just nothing, but to fail and fail and fail,
+    And so at last to die and leave me here,
+    Alone and wretched; yea, perhaps they will,
+    When many years are past, make songs of us:
+    God help me, though, truly I never thought
+    That I should make a story in this way,
+    A story that his eyes can never see.
+
+          [_One sings from outside._]
+
+          _Therefore be it believed
+          Whatsoever he grieved,
+          When his horse was relieved,
+              This Launcelot,_
+
+          _Beat down on his knee,
+          Right valiant was he
+          God's body to see,
+              Though he saw it not._
+
+          _Right valiant to move,
+          But for his sad love
+          The high God above
+              Stinted his praise._
+
+          _Yet so he was glad
+          That his son, Lord Galahad,
+          That high joyaunce had
+              All his life-days._
+
+          _Sing we therefore then
+          Launcelot's praise again,
+          For he wan crownes ten,
+              If he wan not twelve._
+
+          _To his death from his birth
+          He was mickle of worth,
+          Lay him in the cold earth,
+              A long grave ye may delve._
+
+          _Omnes homines benedicite!
+          This last fitte ye may see,
+          All men pray for me
+          Who made this history
+          Cunning and fairly._
+
+
+
+
+RAPUNZEL
+
+
+
+
+RAPUNZEL
+
+
+              THE PRINCE, _being in the wood near the tower, in the
+                        evening_.
+
+    I could not even think
+      What made me weep that day,
+    When out of the council-hall
+      The courtiers pass'd away,--
+
+              THE WITCH.
+
+        Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
+        Let down your hair!
+
+              RAPUNZEL.
+
+    Is it not true that every day
+    She climbeth up the same strange way,
+    Her scarlet cloak spread broad and gay,
+        Over my golden hair?
+
+              THE PRINCE.
+
+    And left me there alone,
+      To think on what they said:
+    'Thou art a king's own son,
+      'Tis fit that thou should'st wed.'
+
+              THE WITCH.
+
+        Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
+        Let down your hair!
+
+              RAPUNZEL.
+
+    When I undo the knotted mass,
+    Fathoms below the shadows pass
+    Over my hair along the grass.
+        O my golden hair!
+
+              THE PRINCE.
+
+    I put my armour on,
+      Thinking on what they said:
+    'Thou art a king's own son,
+      'Tis fit that thou should'st wed.'
+
+              THE WITCH.
+
+        Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
+        Let down your hair!
+
+              RAPUNZEL.
+
+    See on the marble parapet,
+    I lean my brow, strive to forget
+    That fathoms below my hair grows wet
+        With the dew, my golden hair.
+
+              THE PRINCE.
+
+    I rode throughout the town,
+      Men did not bow the head,
+    Though I was the king's own son:
+      He rides to dream, they said.
+
+              THE WITCH.
+
+        Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
+        Wind up your hair!
+
+              RAPUNZEL.
+
+    See on the marble parapet,
+    The faint red stains with tears are wet;
+    The long years pass, no help comes yet
+        To free my golden hair.
+
+              THE PRINCE.
+
+    For leagues and leagues I rode,
+      Till hot my armour grew,
+    Till underneath the leaves
+      I felt the evening dew.
+
+              THE WITCH.
+
+        Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
+        Weep through your hair!
+
+              RAPUNZEL.
+
+    And yet: but I am growing old,
+    For want of love my heart is cold;
+    Years pass, the while I loose and fold
+        The fathoms of my hair.
+
+
+              THE PRINCE, _in the morning_.
+
+    I have heard tales of men, who in the night
+      Saw paths of stars let down to earth from heaven,
+    Who followed them until they reach'd the light
+      Wherein they dwell, whose sins are all forgiven;
+
+    But who went backward when they saw the gate
+      Of diamond, nor dared to enter in;
+    All their life long they were content to wait,
+      Purging them patiently of every sin.
+
+    I must have had a dream of some such thing,
+      And now am just awaking from that dream;
+    For even in grey dawn those strange words ring
+      Through heart and brain, and still I see that gleam.
+
+    For in my dream at sunset-time I lay
+      Beneath these beeches, mail and helmet off,
+    Right full of joy that I had come away
+      From court; for I was patient of the scoff
+
+    That met me always there from day to day,
+      From any knave or coward of them all:
+    I was content to live that wretched way;
+      For truly till I left the council-hall,
+
+    And rode forth arm'd beneath the burning sun,
+      My gleams of happiness were faint and few,
+    But then I saw my real life had begun,
+      And that I should be strong quite well I knew.
+
+    For I was riding out to look for love,
+      Therefore the birds within the thickets sung,
+    Even in hot noontide; as I pass'd, above
+      The elms o'ersway'd with longing towards me hung.
+
+    Now some few fathoms from the place where I
+      Lay in the beech-wood, was a tower fair,
+    The marble corners faint against the sky;
+      And dreamily I wonder'd what lived there:
+
+    Because it seem'd a dwelling for a queen,
+      No belfry for the swinging of great bells.
+    No bolt or stone had ever crush'd the green
+      Shafts, amber and rose walls, no soot that tells
+
+    Of the Norse torches burning up the roofs,
+      On the flower-carven marble could I see;
+    But rather on all sides I saw the proofs
+      Of a great loneliness that sicken'd me;
+
+    Making me feel a doubt that was not fear,
+      Whether my whole life long had been a dream,
+    And I should wake up soon in some place, where
+      The piled-up arms of the fighting angels gleam;
+
+    Not born as yet, but going to be born,
+      No naked baby as I was at first,
+    But an armed knight, whom fire, hate and scorn
+      Could turn from nothing: my heart almost burst
+
+    Beneath the beeches, as I lay a-dreaming,
+      I tried so hard to read this riddle through,
+    To catch some golden cord that I saw gleaming
+      Like gossamer against the autumn blue.
+
+    But while I ponder'd these things, from the wood
+      There came a black-hair'd woman, tall and bold,
+    Who strode straight up to where the tower stood,
+      And cried out shrilly words, whereon behold--
+
+              THE WITCH, _from the tower_.
+
+                Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
+                Let down your hair!
+
+              THE PRINCE.
+
+    Ah Christ! it was no dream then, but there stood
+      (She comes again) a maiden passing fair,
+    Against the roof, with face turn'd to the wood,
+      Bearing within her arms waves of her yellow hair.
+
+    I read my riddle when I saw her stand,
+      Poor love! her face quite pale against her hair,
+    Praying to all the leagues of empty land
+      To save her from the woe she suffer'd there.
+
+    To think! they trod upon her golden hair
+      In the witches' sabbaths; it was a delight
+    For these foul things, while she, with thin feet bare,
+      Stood on the roof upon the winter night,
+
+    To plait her dear hair into many plaits,
+      And then, while God's eye look'd upon the thing,
+    In the very likenesses of Devil's bats,
+      Upon the ends of her long hair to swing.
+
+    And now she stood above the parapet,
+      And, spreading out her arms, let her hair flow,
+    Beneath that veil her smooth white forehead set
+      Upon the marble, more I do not know;
+
+    Because before my eyes a film of gold
+      Floated, as now it floats. O unknown love,
+    Would that I could thy yellow stair behold,
+      If still thou standest the lead roof above!
+
+              THE WITCH, _as she passes_.
+
+                Is there any who will dare
+                To climb up the yellow stair,
+                Glorious Rapunzel's golden hair?
+
+              THE PRINCE.
+
+    If it would please God make you sing again,
+      I think that I might very sweetly die,
+    My soul somehow reach heaven in joyous pain,
+      My heavy body on the beech-nuts lie.
+
+    Now I remember what a most strange year,
+      Most strange and awful, in the beechen wood
+    I have pass'd now; I still have a faint fear
+      It is a kind of dream not understood.
+
+    I have seen no one in this wood except
+      The witch and her; have heard no human tones,
+    But when the witches' revelry has crept
+      Between the very jointing of my bones.
+
+    Ah! I know now; I could not go away,
+      But needs must stop to hear her sing that song
+    She always sings at dawning of the day.
+      I am not happy here, for I am strong,
+
+    And every morning do I whet my sword,
+      Yet Rapunzel still weeps within the tower,
+    And still God ties me down to the green sward,
+      Because I cannot see the gold stair floating lower.
+
+              RAPUNZEL _sings from the tower_.
+
+              My mother taught me prayers
+              To say when I had need;
+              I have so many cares,
+              That I can take no heed
+              Of many words in them;
+              But I remember this:
+              _Christ, bring me to thy bliss.
+              Mary, maid withouten wem,
+              Keep me!_ I am lone, I wis,
+              Yet besides I have made this
+              By myself: _Give me a kiss,
+              Dear God dwelling up in heaven!_
+              Also: _Send me a true knight,
+              Lord Christ, with a steel sword, bright,
+              Broad, and trenchant; yea, and seven
+              Spans from hilt to point, O Lord!
+              And let the handle of his sword
+              Be gold on silver, Lord in heaven!
+              Such a sword as I see gleam
+              Sometimes, when they let me dream._
+
+                Yea, besides, I have made this:
+              _Lord, give Mary a dear kiss,
+              And let gold Michael, who looked down,
+              When I was there, on Rouen town
+              From the spire, bring me that kiss
+              On a lily! Lord do this!_
+
+                These prayers on the dreadful nights,
+              When the witches plait my hair,
+              And the fearfullest of sights
+              On the earth and in the air,
+              Will not let me close my eyes,
+              I murmur often, mix'd with sighs,
+              That my weak heart will not hold
+              At some things that I behold.
+              Nay, not sighs, but quiet groans,
+              That swell out the little bones
+              Of my bosom; till a trance
+              God sends in middle of that dance,
+              And I behold the countenance
+              Of Michael, and can feel no more
+              The bitter east wind biting sore
+              My naked feet; can see no more
+              The crayfish on the leaden floor,
+              That mock with feeler and grim claw.
+
+                Yea, often in that happy trance,
+              Beside the blessed countenance
+              Of golden Michael, on the spire
+              Glowing all crimson in the fire
+              Of sunset, I behold a face,
+              Which sometime, if God give me grace,
+              May kiss me in this very place.
+
+
+ _Evening in the tower._
+
+              RAPUNZEL.
+
+    It grows half way between the dark and light;
+      Love, we have been six hours here alone:
+    I fear that she will come before the night,
+      And if she finds us thus we are undone.
+
+              THE PRINCE.
+
+    Nay, draw a little nearer, that your breath
+      May touch my lips, let my cheek feel your arm;
+    Now tell me, did you ever see a death,
+      Or ever see a man take mortal harm?
+
+              RAPUNZEL.
+
+    Once came two knights and fought with swords below,
+      And while they fought I scarce could look at all,
+    My head swam so; after, a moaning low
+      Drew my eyes down; I saw against the wall
+
+    One knight lean dead, bleeding from head and breast,
+      Yet seem'd it like a line of poppies red
+    In the golden twilight, as he took his rest,
+      In the dusky time he scarcely seemed dead.
+
+    But the other, on his face, six paces off,
+      Lay moaning, and the old familiar name
+    He mutter'd through the grass, seem'd like a scoff
+      Of some lost soul remembering his past fame.
+
+    His helm all dinted lay beside him there,
+      The visor-bars were twisted towards the face,
+    The crest, which was a lady very fair,
+      Wrought wonderfully, was shifted from its place.
+
+    The shower'd mail-rings on the speedwell lay,
+      Perhaps my eyes were dazzled with the light
+    That blazed in the west, yet surely on that day
+      Some crimson thing had changed the grass from bright
+
+    Pure green I love so. But the knight who died
+      Lay there for days after the other went;
+    Until one day I heard a voice that cried:
+      Fair knight, I see Sir Robert we were sent
+
+    To carry dead or living to the king.
+      So the knights came and bore him straight away
+    On their lance truncheons, such a batter'd thing,
+      His mother had not known him on that day,
+
+    But for his helm-crest, a gold lady fair
+      Wrought wonderfully.
+
+              THE PRINCE.
+
+                            Ah, they were brothers then,
+    And often rode together, doubtless where
+      The swords were thickest, and were loyal men,
+
+    Until they fell in these same evil dreams.
+
+              RAPUNZEL.
+
+      Yea, love; but shall we not depart from hence?
+    The white moon groweth golden fast, and gleams
+      Between the aspens stems; I fear, and yet a sense
+
+    Of fluttering victory comes over me,
+      That will not let me fear aright; my heart,
+    Feel how it beats, love, strives to get to thee;
+      I breathe so fast that my lips needs must part;
+
+    Your breath swims round my mouth, but let us go.
+
+              THE PRINCE.
+
+      I, Sebald, also, pluck from off the staff
+    The crimson banner; let it lie below,
+      Above it in the wind let grasses laugh.
+
+    Now let us go, love, down the winding stair,
+      With fingers intertwined: ay, feel my sword!
+    I wrought it long ago, with golden hair
+      Flowing about the hilts, because a word,
+
+    Sung by a minstrel old, had set me dreaming
+      Of a sweet bow'd down face with yellow hair;
+    Betwixt green leaves I used to see it gleaming,
+      A half smile on the lips, though lines of care
+
+    Had sunk the cheeks, and made the great eyes hollow;
+      What other work in all the world had I,
+    But through all turns of fate that face to follow?
+      But wars and business kept me there to die.
+
+    O child, I should have slain my brother, too,
+      My brother, Love, lain moaning in the grass,
+    Had I not ridden out to look for you,
+      When I had watch'd the gilded courtiers pass
+
+    From the golden hall. But it is strange your name
+      Is not the same the minstrel sung of yore;
+    You call'd it Rapunzel, 'tis not the name.
+      See, love, the stems shine through the open door.
+
+
+ _Morning in the woods._
+
+              RAPUNZEL.
+
+    O love! me and my unknown name you have well won;
+      The witch's name was Rapunzel: eh! not so sweet?
+    No! but is this real grass, love, that I tread upon?
+      What call they these blue flowers that lean across my feet?
+
+              THE PRINCE.
+
+    Dip down your dear face in the dewy grass, O love!
+      And ever let the sweet slim harebells, tenderly hung,
+    Kiss both your parted lips; and I will hang above,
+      And try to sing that song the dreamy harper sung.
+
+              _He sings._
+
+          'Twixt the sunlight and the shade
+          Float up memories of my maid:
+                God, remember Guendolen!
+
+          Gold or gems she did not wear,
+          But her yellow rippled hair,
+                Like a veil, hid Guendolen!
+
+          'Twixt the sunlight and the shade,
+          My rough hands so strangely made,
+                Folded Golden Guendolen.
+
+          Hands used to grip the sword-hilt hard,
+          Framed her face, while on the sward
+                Tears fell down from Guendolen.
+
+          Guendolen now speaks no word,
+          Hands fold round about the sword:
+                Now no more of Guendolen.
+
+          Only 'twixt the light and shade
+          Floating memories of my maid
+                Make me pray for Guendolen.
+
+              GUENDOLEN.
+
+    I kiss thee, new-found name! but I will never go:
+      Your hands need never grip the hammer'd sword again,
+    But all my golden hair shall ever round you flow,
+      Between the light and shade from Golden Guendolen.
+
+
+ _Afterwards, in the Palace._
+
+              KING SEBALD.
+
+    I took my armour off,
+      Put on king's robes of gold;
+    Over the kirtle green
+      The gold fell fold on fold.
+
+              THE WITCH, _out of hell_.
+
+          _Guendolen! Guendolen!
+          One lock of hair!_
+
+              GUENDOLEN.
+
+    I am so glad, for every day
+    He kisses me much the same way
+    As in the tower: under the sway
+            Of all my golden hair.
+
+              KING SEBALD.
+
+    We rode throughout the town,
+      A gold crown on my head;
+    Through all the gold-hung streets,
+      Praise God! the people said.
+
+              THE WITCH.
+
+          _Gwendolen! Guendolen!
+          Lend me your hair!_
+
+              GUENDOLEN.
+
+    Verily, I seem like one
+    Who, when day is almost done,
+    Through a thick wood meets the sun
+            That blazes in her hair.
+
+              KING SEBALD.
+
+    Yea, at the palace gates,
+      Praise God! the great knights said,
+    For Sebald the high king,
+      And the lady's golden head.
+
+              THE WITCH.
+
+          _Woe is me! Guendolen
+          Sweeps back her hair._
+
+              GUENDOLEN.
+
+    Nothing wretched now, no screams;
+    I was unhappy once in dreams,
+    And even now a harsh voice seems
+                To hang about my hair.
+
+              THE WITCH.
+
+          WOE! THAT ANY MAN COULD DARE
+          TO CLIMB UP THE YELLOW STAIR,
+          GLORIOUS GUENDOLEN'S GOLDEN HAIR.
+
+
+
+
+CONCERNING GEFFRAY TESTE NOIRE
+
+
+
+
+CONCERNING GEFFRAY TESTE NOIRE
+
+
+    And if you meet the Canon of Chimay,
+      As going to Ortaise you well may do,
+    Greet him from John of Castel Neuf, and say
+      All that I tell you, for all this is true.
+
+    This Geffray Teste Noire was a Gascon thief,
+      Who, under shadow of the English name,
+    Pilled all such towns and countries as were lief
+      To King Charles and St. Denis; thought it blame
+
+    If anything escaped him; so my lord,
+      The Duke of Berry, sent Sir John Bonne Lance,
+    And other knights, good players with the sword,
+      To check this thief, and give the land a chance.
+
+    Therefore we set our bastides round the tower
+      That Geffray held, the strong thief! like a king,
+    High perch'd upon the rock of Ventadour,
+      Hopelessly strong by Christ! It was mid spring,
+
+    When first I joined the little army there
+      With ten good spears; Auvergne is hot, each day
+    We sweated armed before the barrier;
+      Good feats of arms were done there often. Eh?
+
+    Your brother was slain there? I mind me now,
+      A right good man-at-arms, God pardon him!
+    I think 'twas Geffray smote him on the brow
+      With some spiked axe, and while he totter'd, dim
+
+    About the eyes, the spear of Alleyne Roux
+      Slipped through his camaille and his throat; well, well!
+    Alleyne is paid now; your name Alleyne too?
+      Mary! how strange! but this tale I would tell:
+
+    For spite of all our bastides, damned Blackhead
+      Would ride abroad whene'er he chose to ride,
+    We could not stop him; many a burgher bled
+      Dear gold all round his girdle; far and wide
+
+    The villaynes dwelt in utter misery
+      'Twixt us and thief Sir Geffray; hauled this way
+    By Sir Bonne Lance at one time; he gone by,
+      Down comes this Teste Noire on another day.
+
+    And therefore they dig up the stone, grind corn,
+      Hew wood, draw water, yea, they lived, in short,
+    As I said just now, utterly forlorn,
+      Till this our knave and blackhead was out-fought.
+
+    So Bonne Lance fretted, thinking of some trap
+      Day after day, till on a time he said:
+    John of Newcastle, if we have good hap,
+      We catch our thief in two days. How? I said.
+
+    Why, Sir, to-day he rideth out again,
+      Hoping to take well certain sumpter mules
+    From Carcassonne, going with little train,
+      Because, forsooth, he thinketh us mere fools;
+
+    But if we set an ambush in some wood,
+      He is but dead: so, Sir, take thirty spears
+    To Verville forest, if it seem you good.
+      Then felt I like the horse in Job, who hears
+
+    The dancing trumpet sound, and we went forth;
+      And my red lion on the spear-head flapped,
+    As faster than the cool wind we rode north,
+      Towards the wood of Verville; thus it happed.
+
+    We rode a soft pace on that day, while spies
+      Got news about Sir Geffray: the red wine
+    Under the road-side bush was clear; the flies,
+      The dragon-flies I mind me most, did shine
+
+    In brighter arms than ever I put on;
+      So: Geffray, said our spies, would pass that way
+    Next day at sundown: then he must be won;
+      And so we enter'd Verville wood next day,
+
+    In the afternoon; through it the highway runs,
+      'Twixt copses of green hazel, very thick,
+    And underneath, with glimmering of suns,
+      The primroses are happy; the dews lick
+
+    The soft green moss: 'Put cloths about your arms,
+      Lest they should glitter; surely they will go
+    In a long thin line, watchful for alarms,
+      With all their carriages of booty; so,
+
+    Lay down my pennon in the grass: Lord God.
+      What have we lying here? will they be cold,
+    I wonder, being so bare, above the sod,
+      Instead of under? This was a knight too, fold
+
+    Lying on fold of ancient rusted mail;
+      No plate at all, gold rowels to the spurs,
+    And see the quiet gleam of turquoise pale
+      Along the ceinture; but the long time blurs
+
+    Even the tinder of his coat to nought,
+      Except these scraps of leather; see how white
+    The skull is, loose within the coif! He fought
+      A good fight, maybe, ere he was slain quite.
+
+    No armour on the legs too; strange in faith!
+      A little skeleton for a knight, though: ah!
+    This one is bigger, truly without scathe
+      His enemies escaped not! ribs driven out far;
+
+    That must have reach'd the heart, I doubt: how now,
+      What say you, Aldovrand, a woman? why?'
+    Under the coif a gold wreath on the brow,
+      Yea, see the hair not gone to powder, lie,
+
+    Golden, no doubt, once: yea, and very small,
+      This for a knight; but for a dame, my lord,
+    These loose-hung bones seem shapely still, and tall.
+      Didst ever see a woman's bones, my Lord?
+
+    Often, God help me! I remember when
+      I was a simple boy, fifteen years old,
+    The Jacquerie froze up the blood of men
+      With their fell deeds, not fit now to be told.
+
+    God help again! we enter'd Beauvais town,
+      Slaying them fast, whereto I help'd, mere boy
+    As I was then; we gentles cut them down,
+      These burners and defilers, with great joy.
+
+    Reason for that, too, in the great church there
+      These fiends had lit a fire, that soon went out,
+    The church at Beauvais being so great and fair:
+      My father, who was by me, gave a shout
+
+    Between a beast's howl and a woman's scream,
+      Then, panting, chuckled to me: 'John, look! look!
+    Count the dames' skeletons!' From some bad dream
+      Like a man just awaked, my father shook;
+
+    And I, being faint with smelling the burnt bones,
+      And very hot with fighting down the street,
+    And sick of such a life, fell down, with groans
+      My head went weakly nodding to my feet.
+
+    --An arrow had gone through her tender throat,
+      And her right wrist was broken; then I saw
+    The reason why she had on that war-coat,
+      Their story came out clear without a flaw;
+
+    For when he knew that they were being waylaid,
+      He threw it over her, yea, hood and all;
+    Whereby he was much hack'd, while they were stay'd
+      By those their murderers; many an one did fall
+
+    Beneath his arm, no doubt, so that he clear'd
+      Their circle, bore his death-wound out of it;
+    But as they rode, some archer least afear'd
+      Drew a strong bow, and thereby she was hit.
+
+    Still as he rode he knew not she was dead,
+      Thought her but fainted from her broken wrist,
+    He bound with his great leathern belt: she bled?
+      Who knows! he bled too, neither was there miss'd
+
+    The beating of her heart, his heart beat well
+      For both of them, till here, within this wood,
+    He died scarce sorry; easy this to tell;
+      After these years the flowers forget their blood.
+
+    How could it be? never before that day,
+      However much a soldier I might be,
+    Could I look on a skeleton and say
+      I care not for it, shudder not: now see,
+
+    Over those bones I sat and pored for hours,
+      And thought, and dream'd, and still I scarce could see
+    The small white bones that lay upon the flowers,
+      But evermore I saw the lady; she
+
+    With her dear gentle walking leading in,
+      By a chain of silver twined about her wrists,
+    Her loving knight, mounted and arm'd to win
+      Great honour for her, fighting in the lists.
+
+    O most pale face, that brings such joy and sorrow
+      Into men's hearts (yea, too, so piercing sharp
+    That joy is, that it marcheth nigh to sorrow
+      For ever, like an overwinded harp).
+
+    Your face must hurt me always: pray you now,
+      Doth it not hurt you too? seemeth some pain
+    To hold you always, pain to hold your brow
+      So smooth, unwrinkled ever; yea again,
+
+    Your long eyes where the lids seem like to drop,
+      Would you not, lady, were they shut fast, feel
+    Far merrier? there so high they will not stop,
+      They are most sly to glide forth and to steal
+
+    Into my heart; I kiss their soft lids there,
+      And in green gardens scarce can stop my lips
+    From wandering on your face, but that your hair
+      Falls down and tangles me, back my face slips.
+
+    Or say your mouth, I saw you drink red wine
+      Once at a feast; how slowly it sank in,
+    As though you fear'd that some wild fate might twine
+      Within that cup, and slay you for a sin.
+
+    And when you talk your lips do arch and move
+      In such wise that a language new I know
+    Besides their sound; they quiver, too, with love
+      When you are standing silent; know this, too,
+
+    I saw you kissing once, like a curved sword
+      That bites with all its edge, did your lips lie,
+    Curled gently, slowly, long time could afford
+      For caught-up breathings: like a dying sigh
+
+    They gather'd up their lines and went away,
+      And still kept twitching with a sort of smile,
+    As likely to be weeping presently;
+      Your hands too, how I watch'd them all the while!
+
+    Cry out St. Peter now, quoth Aldovrand;
+      I cried, St. Peter! broke out from the wood
+    With all my spears; we met them hand to hand,
+      And shortly slew them; natheless, by the rood,
+
+    We caught not Blackhead then, or any day;
+      Months after that he died at last in bed,
+    From a wound pick'd up at a barrier-fray;
+      That same year's end a steel bolt in the head,
+
+    And much bad living killed Teste Noire at last;
+      John Froissart knoweth he is dead by now,
+    No doubt, but knoweth not this tale just past;
+      Perchance then you can tell him what I show.
+
+    In my new castle, down beside the Eure,
+      There is a little chapel of squared stone,
+    Painted inside and out; in green nook pure
+      There did I lay them, every wearied bone;
+
+    And over it they lay, with stone-white hands
+      Clasped fast together, hair made bright with gold;
+    This Jaques Picard, known through many lands,
+      Wrought cunningly; he's dead now: I am old.
+
+
+
+
+A GOOD KNIGHT IN PRISON
+
+
+              SIR GUY, _being in the court of a Pagan castle_.
+
+          This castle where I dwell, it stands
+        A long way off from Christian lands,
+        A long way off my lady's hands,
+        A long way off the aspen trees,
+        And murmur of the lime-tree bees.
+
+          But down the Valley of the Rose
+        My lady often hawking goes,
+        Heavy of cheer; oft turns behind,
+        Leaning towards the western wind,
+        Because it bringeth to her mind
+        Sad whisperings of happy times,
+        The face of him who sings these rhymes.
+
+          King Guilbert rides beside her there,
+        Bends low and calls her very fair,
+        And strives, by pulling down his hair,
+        To hide from my dear lady's ken
+        The grisly gash I gave him, when
+        I cut him down at Camelot;
+        However he strives, he hides it not,
+        That tourney will not be forgot,
+        Besides, it is King Guilbert's lot,
+        Whatever he says she answers not.
+
+          Now tell me, you that are in love,
+        From the king's son to the wood-dove,
+        Which is the better, he or I?
+
+          For this king means that I should die
+        In this lone Pagan castle, where
+        The flowers droop in the bad air
+        On the September evening.
+
+          Look, now I take mine ease and sing,
+        Counting as but a little thing
+        The foolish spite of a bad king.
+
+          For these vile things that hem me in,
+        These Pagan beasts who live in sin,
+        The sickly flowers pale and wan,
+        The grim blue-bearded castellan,
+        The stanchions half worn-out with rust,
+        Whereto their banner vile they trust:
+        Why, all these things I hold them just
+        As dragons in a missal book,
+        Wherein, whenever we may look,
+        We see no horror, yea delight
+        We have, the colours are so bright;
+        Likewise we note the specks of white,
+        And the great plates of burnish'd gold.
+
+          Just so this Pagan castle old,
+        And everything I can see there,
+        Sick-pining in the marshland air,
+        I note: I will go over now,
+        Like one who paints with knitted brow,
+        The flowers and all things one by one,
+    From the snail on the wall to the setting sun.
+
+          Four great walls, and a little one
+        That leads down to the barbican,
+        Which walls with many spears they man,
+        When news comes to the castellan
+        Of Launcelot being in the land.
+
+          And as I sit here, close at hand
+        Four spikes of sad sick sunflowers stand;
+        The castellan with a long wand
+        Cuts down their leaves as he goes by,
+        Ponderingly, with screw'd-up eye,
+        And fingers twisted in his beard.
+        Nay, was it a knight's shout I heard?
+        I have a hope makes me afeard:
+        It cannot be, but if some dream
+        Just for a minute made me deem
+        I saw among the flowers there
+        My lady's face with long red hair,
+        Pale, ivory-colour'd dear face come,
+        As I was wont to see her some
+        Fading September afternoon,
+        And kiss me, saying nothing, soon
+        To leave me by myself again;
+          Could I get this by longing? vain!
+
+          The castellan is gone: I see
+        On one broad yellow flower a bee
+        Drunk with much honey.
+                                Christ! again,
+        Some distant knight's voice brings me pain,
+        I thought I had forgot to feel,
+        I never heard the blissful steel
+        These ten years past; year after year,
+        Through all my hopeless sojourn here,
+        No Christian pennon has been near.
+        Laus Deo! the dragging wind draws on
+        Over the marshes, battle won,
+        Knights' shouts, and axes hammering;
+        Yea, quicker now the dint and ring
+        Of flying hoofs; ah, castellan,
+        When they come back count man for man,
+        Say whom you miss.
+
+              THE PAGANS, _from the battlements_.
+
+                            Mahound to aid!
+        Why flee ye so like men dismay'd?
+
+              THE PAGANS, _from without_.
+
+        Nay, haste! for here is Launcelot,
+        Who follows quick upon us, hot
+        And shouting with his men-at-arms.
+
+              SIR GUY.
+
+        Also the Pagans raise alarms,
+        And ring the bells for fear; at last
+        My prison walls will be well past.
+
+              SIR LAUNCELOT, _from outside_.
+
+        Ho! in the name of the Trinity,
+        Let down the drawbridge quick to me,
+        And open doors, that I may see
+        Guy the good knight!
+
+              THE PAGANS, _from the battlements_.
+
+                              Nay, Launcelot,
+        With mere big words ye win us not.
+
+              SIR LAUNCELOT.
+
+        Bid Miles bring up la perriere,
+        And archers clear the vile walls there.
+        Bring back the notches to the ear,
+        Shoot well together! God to aid!
+        These miscreants will be well paid.
+
+        Hurrah! all goes together; Miles
+        Is good to win my lady's smiles
+        For his good shooting: Launcelot!
+        On knights apace! this game is hot!
+
+              SIR GUY _sayeth afterwards_.
+
+        I said, I go to meet her now,
+        And saying so, I felt a blow
+        From some clench'd hand across my brow,
+        And fell down on the sunflowers
+        Just as a hammering smote my ears;
+        After which this I felt in sooth,
+        My bare hands throttling without ruth
+        The hairy-throated castellan;
+        Then a grim fight with those that ran
+        To slay me, while I shouted: God
+        For the Lady Mary! deep I trod
+        That evening in my own red blood;
+        Nevertheless so stiff I stood,
+        That when the knights burst the old wood
+        Of the castle-doors, I was not dead.
+
+          I kiss the Lady Mary's head,
+        Her lips, and her hair golden red,
+        Because to-day we have been wed.
+
+
+
+
+OLD LOVE
+
+
+    You must be very old, Sir Giles,
+      I said; he said: Yea, very old!
+    Whereat the mournfullest of smiles
+      Creased his dry skin with many a fold.
+
+    They hammer'd out my basnet point
+      Into a round salade, he said,
+    The basnet being quite out of joint,
+      Natheless the salade rasps my head.
+
+    He gazed at the great fire awhile:
+      And you are getting old, Sir John;
+    (He said this with that cunning smile
+      That was most sad) we both wear on;
+
+    Knights come to court and look at me,
+      With eyebrows up; except my lord,
+    And my dear lady, none I see
+      That know the ways of my old sword.
+
+    (My lady! at that word no pang
+      Stopp'd all my blood). But tell me, John,
+    Is it quite true that Pagans hang
+      So thick about the east, that on
+
+    The eastern sea no Venice flag
+      Can fly unpaid for? True, I said,
+    And in such way the miscreants drag
+      Christ's cross upon the ground, I dread
+
+    That Constantine must fall this year.
+      Within my heart, these things are small;
+    This is not small, that things outwear
+      I thought were made for ever, yea, all,
+
+    All things go soon or late, I said.
+      I saw the duke in court next day;
+    Just as before, his grand great head
+      Above his gold robes dreaming lay,
+
+    Only his face was paler; there
+      I saw his duchess sit by him;
+    And she, she was changed more; her hair
+      Before my eyes that used to swim,
+
+    And make me dizzy with great bliss
+      Once, when I used to watch her sit,
+    Her hair is bright still, yet it is
+      As though some dust were thrown on it.
+
+    Her eyes are shallower, as though
+      Some grey glass were behind; her brow
+    And cheeks the straining bones show through,
+      Are not so good for kissing now.
+
+    Her lips are drier now she is
+      A great duke's wife these many years,
+    They will not shudder with a kiss
+      As once they did, being moist with tears.
+
+    Also her hands have lost that way
+      Of clinging that they used to have;
+    They look'd quite easy, as they lay
+      Upon the silken cushions brave
+
+    With broidery of the apples green
+      My Lord Duke bears upon his shield.
+    Her face, alas! that I have seen
+      Look fresher than an April field,
+
+    This is all gone now; gone also
+      Her tender walking; when she walks
+    She is most queenly I well know,
+      And she is fair still. As the stalks
+
+    Of faded summer-lilies are,
+      So is she grown now unto me
+    This spring-time, when the flowers star
+      The meadows, birds sing wonderfully.
+
+    I warrant once she used to cling
+      About his neck, and kiss'd him so,
+    And then his coming step would ring
+      Joy-bells for her; some time ago.
+
+    Ah! sometimes like an idle dream
+      That hinders true life overmuch,
+    Sometimes like a lost heaven, these seem.
+      This love is not so hard to smutch.
+
+
+
+
+THE GILLIFLOWER OF GOLD
+
+
+    A golden gilliflower to-day
+    I wore upon my helm alway,
+    And won the prize of this tourney.
+      _Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflee._
+
+    However well Sir Giles might sit,
+    His sun was weak to wither it,
+    Lord Miles's blood was dew on it:
+      _Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflee._
+
+    Although my spear in splinters flew,
+    From John's steel-coat, my eye was true;
+    I wheel'd about, and cried for you,
+      _Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflee._
+
+    Yea, do not doubt my heart was good,
+    Though my sword flew like rotten wood,
+    To shout, although I scarcely stood,
+      _Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflee._
+
+    My hand was steady too, to take
+    My axe from round my neck, and break
+    John's steel-coat up for my love's sake.
+      _Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflee._
+
+    When I stood in my tent again,
+    Arming afresh, I felt a pain
+    Take hold of me, I was so fain,
+      _Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflee._
+
+    To hear: _Honneur aux fils des preux!_
+    Right in my ears again, and shew
+    The gilliflower blossom'd new.
+      _Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflee._
+
+    The Sieur Guillaume against me came,
+    His tabard bore three points of flame
+    From a red heart: with little blame,
+      _Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflee._
+
+    Our tough spears crackled up like straw;
+    He was the first to turn and draw
+    His sword, that had nor speck nor flaw;
+      _Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflee._
+
+    But I felt weaker than a maid,
+    And my brain, dizzied and afraid,
+    Within my helm a fierce tune play'd,
+      _Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflee._
+
+    Until I thought of your dear head,
+    Bow'd to the gilliflower bed,
+    The yellow flowers stain'd with red;
+      _Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflee._
+
+    Crash! how the swords met: _giroflee!_
+    The fierce tune in my helm would play,
+    _La belle! la belle! jaune giroflee!
+      Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflee._
+
+    Once more the great swords met again:
+    "_La belle! la belle!_" but who fell then?
+    Le Sieur Guillaume, who struck down ten;
+      _Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflee._
+
+    And as with mazed and unarm'd face,
+    Toward my own crown and the Queen's place,
+    They led me at a gentle pace.
+      _Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflee._
+
+    I almost saw your quiet head
+    Bow'd o'er the gilliflower bed,
+    The yellow flowers stain'd with red.
+      _Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflee._
+
+
+
+
+SHAMEFUL DEATH
+
+
+    There were four of us about that bed;
+      The mass-priest knelt at the side,
+    I and his mother stood at the head,
+      Over his feet lay the bride;
+    We were quite sure that he was dead,
+      Though his eyes were open wide.
+
+    He did not die in the night,
+      He did not die in the day,
+    But in the morning twilight
+      His spirit pass'd away,
+    When neither sun nor moon was bright,
+      And the trees were merely grey.
+
+    He was not slain with the sword,
+      Knight's axe, or the knightly spear,
+    Yet spoke he never a word
+      After he came in here;
+    I cut away the cord
+      From the neck of my brother dear.
+
+    He did not strike one blow,
+      For the recreants came behind,
+    In a place where the hornbeams grow,
+      A path right hard to find,
+    For the hornbeam boughs swing so,
+      That the twilight makes it blind.
+
+    They lighted a great torch then,
+      When his arms were pinion'd fast,
+    Sir John the knight of the Fen,
+      Sir Guy of the Dolorous Blast,
+    With knights threescore and ten,
+      Hung brave Lord Hugh at last.
+
+    I am threescore and ten,
+      And my hair is all turn'd grey,
+    But I met Sir John of the Fen
+      Long ago on a summer day,
+    And am glad to think of the moment when
+      I took his life away.
+
+    I am threescore and ten,
+      And my strength is mostly pass'd,
+    But long ago I and my men,
+      When the sky was overcast,
+    And the smoke roll'd over the reeds of the fen,
+      Slew Guy of the Dolorous Blast.
+
+    And now, knights all of you,
+      I pray you pray for Sir Hugh,
+    A good knight and a true,
+      And for Alice, his wife, pray too.
+
+
+
+
+THE EVE OF CRECY
+
+
+    Gold on her head, and gold on her feet,
+    And gold where the hems of her kirtle meet,
+    And a golden girdle round my sweet;
+        _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._
+
+    Margaret's maids are fair to see,
+    Freshly dress'd and pleasantly;
+    Margaret's hair falls down to her knee;
+        _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._
+
+    If I were rich I would kiss her feet;
+    I would kiss the place where the gold hems meet,
+    And the golden girdle round my sweet:
+        _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._
+
+    Ah me! I have never touch'd her hand;
+    When the arriere-ban goes through the land,
+    Six basnets under my pennon stand;
+        _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._
+
+    And many an one grins under his hood:
+    Sir Lambert du Bois, with all his men good,
+    Has neither food nor firewood;
+        _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._
+
+    If I were rich I would kiss her feet,
+    And the golden girdle of my sweet,
+    And thereabouts where the gold hems meet;
+        _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._
+
+    Yet even now it is good to think,
+    While my few poor varlets grumble and drink
+    In my desolate hall, where the fires sink,
+        _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._
+
+    Of Margaret sitting glorious there,
+    In glory of gold and glory of hair,
+    And glory of glorious face most fair;
+        _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._
+
+    Likewise to-night I make good cheer,
+    Because this battle draweth near:
+    For what have I to lose or fear?
+        _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._
+
+    For, look you, my horse is good to prance
+    A right fair measure in this war-dance,
+    Before the eyes of Philip of France;
+        _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._
+
+    And sometime it may hap, perdie,
+    While my new towers stand up three and three,
+    And my hall gets painted fair to see,
+        _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._
+
+    That folks may say: Times change, by the rood,
+    For Lambert, banneret of the wood,
+    Has heaps of food and firewood;
+        _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite;_
+
+    And wonderful eyes, too, under the hood
+    Of a damsel of right noble blood.
+    St. Ives, for Lambert of the Wood!
+        _Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite._
+
+
+
+
+THE JUDGMENT OF GOD
+
+
+    Swerve to the left, son Roger, he said,
+      When you catch his eyes through the helmet-slit,
+    Swerve to the left, then out at his head,
+      And the Lord God give you joy of it!
+
+    The blue owls on my father's hood
+      Were a little dimm'd as I turn'd away;
+    This giving up of blood for blood
+      Will finish here somehow to-day.
+
+    So, when I walk'd out from the tent,
+      Their howling almost blinded me;
+    Yet for all that I was not bent
+      By any shame. Hard by, the sea
+
+    Made a noise like the aspens where
+      We did that wrong, but now the place
+    Is very pleasant, and the air
+      Blows cool on any passer's face.
+
+    And all the wrong is gather'd now
+      Into the circle of these lists:
+    Yea, howl out, butchers! tell me how
+      His hands were cut off at the wrists;
+
+    And how Lord Roger bore his face
+      A league above his spear-point, high
+    Above the owls, to that strong place
+      Among the waters; yea, yea, cry:
+
+    What a brave champion we have got!
+      Sir Oliver, the flower of all
+    The Hainault knights! The day being hot,
+      He sat beneath a broad white pall,
+
+    White linen over all his steel;
+      What a good knight he look'd! his sword
+    Laid thwart his knees; he liked to feel
+      Its steadfast edge clear as his word.
+
+    And he look'd solemn; how his love
+      Smiled whitely on him, sick with fear!
+    How all the ladies up above
+      Twisted their pretty hands! so near
+
+    The fighting was: Ellayne! Ellayne!
+      They cannot love like you can, who
+    Would burn your hands off, if that pain
+      Could win a kiss; am I not true
+
+    To you for ever? therefore I
+      Do not fear death or anything;
+    If I should limp home wounded, why,
+      While I lay sick you would but sing,
+
+    And soothe me into quiet sleep.
+      If they spat on the recreant knight,
+    Threw stones at him, and cursed him deep,
+      Why then: what then? your hand would light
+
+    So gently on his drawn-up face,
+      And you would kiss him, and in soft
+    Cool scented clothes would lap him, pace
+      The quiet room and weep oft, oft
+
+    Would turn and smile, and brush his cheek
+      With your sweet chin and mouth; and in
+    The order'd garden you would seek
+      The biggest roses: any sin.
+
+    And these say: No more now my knight,
+      Or God's knight any longer: you,
+    Being than they so much more white,
+      So much more pure and good and true,
+
+    Will cling to me for ever; there,
+      Is not that wrong turn'd right at last
+    Through all these years, and I wash'd clean?
+      Say, yea, Ellayne; the time is past,
+
+    Since on that Christmas-day last year
+      Up to your feet the fire crept,
+    And the smoke through the brown leaves sere
+      Blinded your dear eyes that you wept;
+
+    Was it not I that caught you then,
+      And kiss'd you on the saddle-bow?
+    Did not the blue owl mark the men
+      Whose spears stood like the corn a-row?
+
+    This Oliver is a right good knight,
+      And must needs beat me, as I fear,
+    Unless I catch him in the fight,
+      My father's crafty way: John, here!
+
+    Bring up the men from the south gate,
+      To help me if I fall or win,
+    For even if I beat, their hate
+      Will grow to more than this mere grin.
+
+
+
+
+THE LITTLE TOWER
+
+
+    Up and away through the drifting rain!
+    Let us ride to the Little Tower again,
+
+    Up and away from the council board!
+    Do on the hauberk, gird on the sword.
+
+    The king is blind with gnashing his teeth,
+    Change gilded scabbard to leather sheath:
+
+    Though our arms are wet with the slanting rain,
+    This is joy to ride to my love again:
+
+    I laugh in his face when he bids me yield;
+    Who knows one field from the other field,
+
+    For the grey rain driveth all astray?
+    Which way through the floods, good carle, I pray
+
+    The left side yet! the left side yet!
+    Till your hand strikes on the bridge parapet.
+
+    Yea so: the causeway holdeth good
+    Under the water? Hard as wood,
+
+    Right away to the uplands; speed, good knight!
+    Seven hours yet before the light.
+
+    Shake the wet off on the upland road;
+    My tabard has grown a heavy load.
+
+    What matter? up and down hill after hill;
+    Dead grey night for five hours still.
+
+    The hill-road droppeth lower again,
+    Lower, down to the poplar plain.
+
+    No furlong farther for us to-night,
+    The Little Tower draweth in sight;
+
+    They are ringing the bells, and the torches glare,
+    Therefore the roofs of wet slate stare.
+
+    There she stands, and her yellow hair slantingly
+    Drifts the same way that the rain goes by.
+
+    Who will be faithful to us to-day,
+    With little but hard glaive-strokes for pay?
+
+    The grim king fumes at the council-board:
+    Three more days, and then the sword;
+
+    Three more days, and my sword through his head;
+    And above his white brows, pale and dead,
+
+    A paper crown on the top of the spire;
+    And for her the stake and the witches' fire.
+
+    Therefore though it be long ere day,
+    Take axe and pick and spade, I pray.
+
+    Break the dams down all over the plain:
+    God send us three more days such rain!
+
+    Block all the upland roads with trees;
+    The Little Tower with no great ease
+
+    Is won, I warrant; bid them bring
+    Much sheep and oxen, everything
+
+    The spits are wont to turn with; wine
+    And wheaten bread, that we may dine
+
+    In plenty each day of the siege.
+    Good friends, ye know me no hard liege;
+
+    My lady is right fair, see ye!
+    Pray God to keep you frank and free.
+
+    Love Isabeau, keep goodly cheer;
+    The Little Tower will stand well here
+
+    Many a year when we are dead,
+    And over it our green and red,
+
+    Barred with the Lady's golden head,
+    From mere old age when we are dead.
+
+
+
+
+THE SAILING OF THE SWORD
+
+
+    Across the empty garden-beds,
+      _When the Sword went out to sea,_
+    I scarcely saw my sisters' heads
+      Bowed each beside a tree.
+    I could not see the castle leads,
+      _When the Sword went out to sea,_
+
+    Alicia wore a scarlet gown,
+      _When the Sword went out to sea,_
+    But Ursula's was russet brown:
+      For the mist we could not see
+    The scarlet roofs of the good town,
+      _When the Sword went out to sea._
+
+    Green holly in Alicia's hand,
+      _When the Sword went out to sea;_
+    With sere oak-leaves did Ursula stand;
+      O! yet alas for me!
+    I did but bear a peel'd white wand,
+      _When the Sword went out to sea._
+
+    O, russet brown and scarlet bright,
+      _When the Sword went out to sea,_
+    My sisters wore; I wore but white:
+      Red, brown, and white, are three;
+    Three damozels; each had a knight,
+      _When the Sword went out to sea._
+
+    Sir Robert shouted loud, and said:
+      _When the Sword went out to sea,_
+    Alicia, while I see thy head,
+      What shall I bring for thee?
+    O, my sweet Lord, a ruby red:
+      _The Sword went out to sea._
+
+    Sir Miles said, while the sails hung down,
+      _When the Sword went out to sea,_
+    O, Ursula! while I see the town,
+      What shall I bring for thee?
+    Dear knight, bring back a falcon brown:
+      _The Sword went out to sea._
+
+    But my Roland, no word he said
+      _When the Sword went out to sea,_
+    But only turn'd away his head;
+      A quick shriek came from me:
+    Come back, dear lord, to your white maid.
+      _The Sword went out to sea._
+
+    The hot sun bit the garden-beds
+      _When the Sword came back from sea;_
+    Beneath an apple-tree our heads
+      Stretched out toward the sea;
+    Grey gleam'd the thirsty castle-leads,
+      _When the Sword came back from sea._
+
+    Lord Robert brought a ruby red,
+      _When the Sword came back from sea;_
+    He kissed Alicia on the head:
+      I am come back to thee;
+    'Tis time, sweet love, that we were wed,
+      _Now the Sword is back from sea!_
+
+    Sir Miles he bore a falcon brown,
+      _When the Sword came back from sea;_
+    His arms went round tall Ursula's gown:
+      What joy, O love, but thee?
+    Let us be wed in the good town,
+      _Now the Sword is back from sea!_
+
+    My heart grew sick, no more afraid,
+      _When the Sword came back from sea;_
+    Upon the deck a tall white maid
+      Sat on Lord Roland's knee;
+    His chin was press'd upon her head,
+      _When the Sword came back from sea!_
+
+
+
+
+SPELL-BOUND
+
+
+    How weary is it none can tell,
+      How dismally the days go by!
+    I hear the tinkling of the bell,
+      I see the cross against the sky.
+
+    The year wears round to Autumn-tide,
+      Yet comes no reaper to the corn;
+    The golden land is like a bride
+      When first she knows herself forlorn;
+
+    She sits and weeps with all her hair
+      Laid downward over tender hands;
+    For stained silk she hath no care,
+      No care for broken ivory wands;
+
+    The silver cups beside her stand;
+      The golden stars on the blue roof
+    Yet glitter, though against her hand
+      His cold sword presses for a proof
+
+    He is not dead, but gone away.
+      How many hours did she wait
+    For me, I wonder? Till the day
+      Had faded wholly, and the gate
+
+    Clanged to behind returning knights?
+      I wonder did she raise her head
+    And go away, fleeing the lights;
+      And lay the samite on her bed,
+
+    The wedding samite strewn with pearls:
+      Then sit with hands laid on her knees,
+    Shuddering at half-heard sound of girls
+      That chatter outside in the breeze?
+
+    I wonder did her poor heart throb
+      At distant tramp of coming knight?
+    How often did the choking sob
+      Raise up her head and lips? The light,
+
+    Did it come on her unawares,
+      And drag her sternly down before
+    People who loved her not? in prayers
+      Did she say one name and no more?
+
+    And once, all songs they ever sung,
+      All tales they ever told to me,
+    This only burden through them rung:
+      _O golden love that waitest me!_
+
+    _The days pass on, pass on apace,
+      Sometimes I have a little rest
+    In fairest dreams, when on thy face
+      My lips lie, or thy hands are prest_
+
+    _About my forehead, and thy lips
+      Draw near and nearer to mine own;
+    But when the vision from me slips,
+      In colourless dawn I lie and moan,_
+
+    _And wander forth with fever'd blood,
+      That makes me start at little things,
+    The blackbird screaming from the wood,
+      The sudden whirr of pheasants' wings._
+
+    _O dearest, scarcely seen by me!_
+      But when that wild time had gone by,
+    And in these arms I folded thee,
+      Who ever thought those days could die?
+
+    Yet now I wait, and you wait too,
+      For what perchance may never come;
+    You think I have forgotten you,
+      That I grew tired and went home.
+
+    But what if some day as I stood
+      Against the wall with strained hands,
+    And turn'd my face toward the wood,
+      Away from all the golden lands;
+
+    And saw you come with tired feet,
+      And pale face thin and wan with care,
+    And stained raiment no more neat,
+      The white dust lying on your hair:
+
+    Then I should say, I could not come;
+      This land was my wide prison, dear;
+    I could not choose but go; at home
+      There is a wizard whom I fear:
+
+    He bound me round with silken chains
+      I could not break; he set me here
+    Above the golden-waving plains,
+      Where never reaper cometh near.
+
+    And you have brought me my good sword,
+      Wherewith in happy days of old
+    I won you well from knight and lord;
+      My heart upswells and I grow bold.
+
+    But I shall die unless you stand,
+      Half lying now, you are so weak,
+    Within my arms, unless your hand
+      Pass to and fro across my cheek.
+
+
+
+
+THE WIND
+
+
+    Ah! no, no, it is nothing, surely nothing at all,
+    Only the wild-going wind round by the garden-wall,
+    For the dawn just now is breaking, the wind beginning to fall.
+
+        _Wind, wind! thou art sad, art thou kind?
+        Wind, wind, unhappy! thou art blind,
+        Yet still thou wanderest the lily-seed to find._
+
+    So I will sit, and think and think of the days gone by,
+    Never moving my chair for fear the dogs should cry,
+    Making no noise at all while the flambeau burns awry.
+
+    For my chair is heavy and carved, and with sweeping green behind
+    It is hung, and the dragons thereon grin out in the gusts of the wind;
+    On its folds an orange lies, with a deep gash cut in the rind.
+
+        _Wind, wind! thou art sad, art thou kind?
+        Wind, wind, unhappy! thou art blind,
+        still thou wanderest the lily-seed to find._
+
+    If I move my chair it will scream, and the orange will roll out afar,
+    And the faint yellow juice ooze out like blood from a wizard's jar;
+    And the dogs will howl for those who went last month to the war.
+
+        _Wind, wind! thou art sad, art thou kind?
+        Wind, wind, unhappy! thou art blind,
+        Yet still thou wanderest the lily-seed to find._
+
+    So I will sit and think of love that is over and past,
+    O, so long ago! Yes, I will be quiet at last:
+    Whether I like it or not, a grim half-slumber is cast
+
+    Over my worn old brains, that touches the roots of my heart,
+    And above my half-shut eyes, the blue roof 'gins to part,
+    And show the blue spring sky, till I am ready to start
+
+    From out of the green-hung chair; but something keeps me still,
+    And I fall in a dream that I walk'd with her on the side of a hill,
+    Dotted, for was it not spring? with tufts of the daffodil.
+
+        _Wind, wind! thou art sad, art thou kind?
+        Wind, wind, unhappy! thou art blind,
+        Yet still thou wanderest the lily-seed to find._
+
+    And Margaret as she walk'd held a painted book in her hand;
+    Her finger kept the place; I caught her, we both did stand
+    Face to face, on the top of the highest hill in the land.
+
+        _Wind, wind! thou art sad, art thou kind?
+        Wind, wind, unhappy! thou art blind,
+        Yet still thou wanderest the lily-seed to find._
+
+    I held to her long bare arms, but she shudder'd away from me,
+    While the flush went out of her face as her head fell back on a tree,
+    And a spasm caught her mouth, fearful for me to see;
+
+    And still I held to her arms till her shoulder touched my mail,
+    Weeping she totter'd forward, so glad that I should prevail,
+    And her hair went over my robe, like a gold flag over a sail.
+
+        _Wind, wind! thou art sad, art thou kind?
+        Wind, wind, unhappy! thou art blind,
+        Yet still thou wanderest the lily-seed to find._
+
+    I kiss'd her hard by the ear, and she kiss'd me on the brow,
+    And then lay down on the grass, where the mark on the moss is now,
+    And spread her arms out wide while I went down below.
+
+        _Wind, wind! thou art sad, art thou kind?
+        Wind, wind, unhappy! thou art blind,
+        Yet still thou wanderest the lily-seed to find._
+
+    And then I walk'd for a space to and fro on the side of the hill,
+    Till I gather'd and held in my arms great sheaves of the daffodil,
+    And when I came again my Margaret lay there still.
+
+    I piled them high and high above her heaving breast,
+    How they were caught and held in her loose ungirded vest!
+    But one beneath her arm died, happy so to be prest!
+
+        _Wind, wind! thou art sad, art thou kind?
+        Wind, wind, unhappy! thou art blind,
+        Yet still thou wanderest the lily-seed to find._
+
+    Again I turn'd my back and went away for an hour;
+    She said no word when I came again, so, flower by flower,
+    I counted the daffodils over, and cast them languidly lower.
+
+        _Wind, wind! thou art sad, art thou kind?
+        Wind, wind, unhappy! thou art blind,
+        Yet still thou wanderest the lily-seed to find._
+
+    My dry hands shook and shook as the green gown show'd again,
+    Clear'd from the yellow flowers, and I grew hollow with pain,
+    And on to us both there fell from the sun-shower drops of rain.
+
+        _Wind, wind! thou art sad, art thou kind?
+        Wind, wind, unhappy! thou art blind,
+        Yet still thou wanderest the lily-seed to find._
+
+    Alas! alas! there was blood on the very quiet breast,
+    Blood lay in the many folds of the loose ungirded vest,
+    Blood lay upon her arm where the flower had been prest.
+
+    I shriek'd and leapt from my chair, and the orange roll'd out afar,
+    The faint yellow juice oozed out like blood from a wizard's jar;
+    And then in march'd the ghosts of those that had gone to the war.
+
+    I knew them by the arms that I was used to paint
+    Upon their long thin shields; but the colours were all grown faint,
+    And faint upon their banner was Olaf, king and saint.
+
+        _Wind, wind! thou art sad, art thou kind?
+        Wind, wind, unhappy! thou art blind,
+        Yet still thou wanderest the lily-seed to find._
+
+
+
+
+THE BLUE CLOSET
+
+
+              THE DAMOZELS.
+
+        Lady Alice, lady Louise,
+        Between the wash of the tumbling seas
+        We are ready to sing, if so ye please;
+        So lay your long hands on the keys;
+                      Sing, _Laudate pueri_.
+
+      _And ever the great bell overhead
+      Boom'd in the wind a knell for the dead,
+      Though no one toll'd it, a knell for the dead._
+
+              LADY LOUISE.
+
+      Sister, let the measure swell
+      Not too loud; for you sing not well
+      If you drown the faint boom of the bell;
+                      He is weary, so am I.
+
+      _And ever the chevron overhead
+      Flapped on the banner of the dead;
+      (Was he asleep, or was he dead?)_
+
+              LADY ALICE.
+
+      Alice the Queen, and Louise the Queen,
+      Two damozels wearing purple and green,
+      Four lone ladies dwelling here
+      From day to day and year to year;
+      And there is none to let us go;
+      To break the locks of the doors below,
+      Or shovel away the heaped-up snow;
+      And when we die no man will know
+      That we are dead; but they give us leave,
+      Once every year on Christmas-eve,
+      To sing in the Closet Blue one song;
+      And we should be so long, so long,
+      If we dared, in singing; for dream on dream,
+      They float on in a happy stream;
+      Float from the gold strings, float from the keys,
+      Float from the open'd lips of Louise;
+      But, alas! the sea-salt oozes through
+      The chinks of the tiles of the Closet Blue;
+      _And ever the great bell overhead
+      Booms in the wind a knell for the dead,
+      The wind plays on it a knell for the dead._
+
+              _They sing all together._
+
+    How long ago was it, how long ago,
+    He came to this tower with hands full of snow?
+
+    Kneel down, O love Louise, kneel down! he said,
+    And sprinkled the dusty snow over my head.
+
+    He watch'd the snow melting, it ran through my hair,
+    Ran over my shoulders, white shoulders and bare.
+
+    I cannot weep for thee, poor love Louise,
+    For my tears are all hidden deep under the seas;
+
+    In a gold and blue casket she keeps all my tears,
+    But my eyes are no longer blue, as in old years;
+
+    Yea, they grow grey with time, grow small and dry,
+    I am so feeble now, would I might die.
+
+      _And in truth the great bell overhead
+      Left off his pealing for the dead,
+      Perchance, because the wind was dead._
+
+    Will he come back again, or is he dead?
+    O! is he sleeping, my scarf round his head?
+
+    Or did they strangle him as he lay there,
+    With the long scarlet scarf I used to wear?
+
+    Only I pray thee, Lord, let him come here!
+    Both his soul and his body to me are most dear.
+
+    Dear Lord, that loves me, I wait to receive
+    Either body or spirit this wild Christmas-eve.
+
+      _Through the floor shot up a lily red,
+      With a patch of earth from the land of the dead,
+      For he was strong in the land of the dead._
+
+        What matter that his cheeks were pale,
+          His kind kiss'd lips all grey?
+        O, love Louise, have you waited long?
+          O, my lord Arthur, yea.
+
+        What if his hair that brush'd her cheek
+          Was stiff with frozen rime?
+        His eyes were grown quite blue again,
+          As in the happy time.
+
+        O, love Louise, this is the key
+          Of the happy golden land!
+        O, sisters, cross the bridge with me,
+          My eyes are full of sand.
+        What matter that I cannot see,
+          If ye take me by the hand?
+
+      _And ever the great bell overhead,
+      And the tumbling seas mourned for the dead;
+      For their song ceased, and they were dead._
+
+
+
+
+THE TUNE OF SEVEN TOWERS
+
+
+      No one goes there now:
+        For what is left to fetch away
+      From the desolate battlements all arow,
+        And the lead roof heavy and grey?
+    _Therefore, said fair Yoland of the flowers,
+    This is the tune of Seven Towers._
+
+      No one walks there now;
+        Except in the white moonlight
+      The white ghosts walk in a row;
+        If one could see it, an awful sight,
+    _Listen! said fair Yoland of the flowers,
+    This is the tune of Seven Towers._
+
+      But none can see them now,
+        Though they sit by the side of the moat,
+      Feet half in the water, there in a row,
+        Long hair in the wind afloat.
+    _Therefore, said fair Yoland of the flowers,
+    This is the tune of Seven Towers._
+
+      If any will go to it now,
+        He must go to it all alone,
+      Its gates will not open to any row
+        Of glittering spears: will _you_ go alone?
+    _Listen! said fair Yoland of the flowers,
+    This is the tune of Seven Towers._
+
+      By my love go there now,
+        To fetch me my coif away,
+      My coif and my kirtle, with pearls arow,
+        Oliver, go to-day!
+    _Therefore, said fair Yoland of the flowers,
+    This is the tune of Seven Towers._
+
+      I am unhappy now,
+        I cannot tell you why;
+      If you go, the priests and I in a row
+        Will pray that you may not die.
+    _Listen! said fair Yoland of the flowers,
+    This is the tune of Seven Towers._
+
+      If you will go for me now,
+        I will kiss your mouth at last;
+               [_She sayeth inwardly._]
+      (_The graves stand grey in a row._)
+        Oliver, hold me fast!
+    _Therefore, said fair Yoland of the flowers,
+    This is the tune of Seven Towers._
+
+
+
+
+GOLDEN WINGS
+
+
+    Midways of a walled garden,
+      In the happy poplar land,
+      Did an ancient castle stand,
+    With an old knight for a warden.
+
+    Many scarlet bricks there were
+      In its walls, and old grey stone;
+      Over which red apples shone
+    At the right time of the year.
+
+    On the bricks the green moss grew.
+      Yellow lichen on the stone,
+      Over which red apples shone;
+    Little war that castle knew.
+
+    Deep green water fill'd the moat,
+      Each side had a red-brick lip,
+      Green and mossy with the drip
+    Of dew and rain; there was a boat
+
+    Of carven wood, with hangings green
+      About the stern; it was great bliss
+      For lovers to sit there and kiss
+    In the hot summer noons, not seen.
+
+    Across the moat the fresh west wind
+      In very little ripples went;
+      The way the heavy aspens bent
+    Towards it, was a thing to mind.
+
+    The painted drawbridge over it
+      Went up and down with gilded chains,
+      'Twas pleasant in the summer rains
+    Within the bridge-house there to sit.
+
+    There were five swans that ne'er did eat
+      The water-weeds, for ladies came
+      Each day, and young knights did the same,
+    And gave them cakes and bread for meat.
+
+    They had a house of painted wood,
+      A red roof gold-spiked over it,
+      Wherein upon their eggs to sit
+    Week after week; no drop of blood,
+
+    Drawn from men's bodies by sword-blows,
+      Came ever there, or any tear;
+      Most certainly from year to year
+    'Twas pleasant as a Provence rose.
+
+    The banners seem'd quite full of ease,
+      That over the turret-roofs hung down;
+      The battlements could get no frown
+    From the flower-moulded cornices.
+
+    Who walked in that garden there?
+      Miles and Giles and Isabeau,
+      Tall Jehane du Castel beau,
+    Alice of the golden hair,
+
+    Big Sir Gervaise, the good knight,
+      Fair Ellayne le Violet,
+      Mary, Constance fille de fay,
+    Many dames with footfall light.
+
+    Whosoever wander'd there,
+      Whether it be dame or knight,
+      Half of scarlet, half of white
+    Their raiment was; of roses fair
+
+    Each wore a garland on the head,
+      At Ladies' Gard the way was so:
+      Fair Jehane du Castel beau
+    Wore her wreath till it was dead.
+
+    Little joy she had of it,
+      Of the raiment white and red,
+      Or the garland on her head,
+    She had none with whom to sit
+
+    In the carven boat at noon;
+      None the more did Jehane weep,
+      She would only stand and keep
+    Saying: He will be here soon!
+
+    Many times in the long day
+      Miles and Giles and Gervaise passed,
+      Holding each some white hand fast,
+    Every time they heard her say:
+
+    Summer cometh to an end,
+      Undern cometh after noon;
+      Golden wings will be here soon,
+    What if I some token send?
+
+    Wherefore that night within the hall,
+      With open mouth and open eyes,
+      Like some one listening with surprise,
+    She sat before the sight of all.
+
+    Stoop'd down a little she sat there,
+      With neck stretch'd out and chin thrown up,
+      One hand around a golden cup;
+    And strangely with her fingers fair
+
+    She beat some tune upon the gold;
+      The minstrels in the gallery
+      Sung: Arthur, who will never die,
+    In Avallon he groweth old.
+
+    And when the song was ended, she
+      Rose and caught up her gown and ran;
+      None stopp'd her eager face and wan
+    Of all that pleasant company.
+
+    Right so within her own chamber
+      Upon her bed she sat; and drew
+      Her breath in quick gasps; till she knew
+    That no man follow'd after her.
+
+    She took the garland from her head,
+      Loosed all her hair, and let it lie
+      Upon the coverlet; thereby
+    She laid the gown of white and red;
+
+    And she took off her scarlet shoon,
+      And bared her feet; still more and more
+      Her sweet face redden'd; evermore
+    She murmur'd: He will be here soon;
+
+    Truly he cannot fail to know
+      My tender body waits him here;
+      And if he knows, I have no fear
+    For poor Jehane du Castel beau.
+
+    She took a sword within her hand,
+      Whose hilts were silver, and she sung
+      Somehow like this, wild words that rung
+    A long way over the moonlit land:
+
+      Gold wings across the sea!
+      Grey light from tree to tree,
+      Gold hair beside my knee,
+      I pray thee come to me,
+      Gold wings!
+
+                  The water slips,
+        The red-bill'd moorhen dips.
+      Sweet kisses on red lips;
+      Alas! the red rust grips,
+      And the blood-red dagger rips,
+      Yet, O knight, come to me!
+
+      Are not my blue eyes sweet?
+      The west wind from the wheat
+      Blows cold across my feet;
+      Is it not time to meet
+      Gold wings across the sea?
+
+      White swans on the green moat,
+      Small feathers left afloat
+      By the blue-painted boat;
+      Swift running of the stoat,
+      Sweet gurgling note by note
+      Of sweet music.
+
+                      O gold wings,
+      Listen how gold hair sings,
+      And the Ladies Castle rings,
+      Gold wings across the sea.
+
+      I sit on a purple bed,
+      Outside, the wall is red,
+      Thereby the apple hangs,
+      And the wasp, caught by the fangs,
+
+      Dies in the autumn night,
+      And the bat flits till light,
+      And the love-crazed knight
+
+      Kisses the long wet grass:
+      The weary days pass,
+      Gold wings across the sea.
+
+      Gold wings across the sea!
+      Moonlight from tree to tree,
+      Sweet hair laid on my knee,
+      O, sweet knight, come to me.
+
+      Gold wings, the short night slips,
+      The white swan's long neck drips,
+      I pray thee kiss my lips,
+      Gold wings across the sea!
+
+    No answer through the moonlit night;
+      No answer in the cold grey dawn;
+      No answer when the shaven lawn
+    Grew green, and all the roses bright.
+
+    Her tired feet look'd cold and thin,
+      Her lips were twitch'd, and wretched tears,
+      Some, as she lay, roll'd past her ears,
+    Some fell from off her quivering chin.
+
+    Her long throat, stretched to its full length,
+      Rose up and fell right brokenly;
+      As though the unhappy heart was nigh
+    Striving to break with all its strength.
+
+    And when she slipp'd from off the bed,
+      Her cramp'd feet would not hold her; she
+      Sank down and crept on hand and knee,
+    On the window-sill she laid her head.
+
+    There, with crooked arm upon the sill,
+      She look'd out, muttering dismally:
+      There is no sail upon the sea,
+    No pennon on the empty hill.
+
+    I cannot stay here all alone,
+      Or meet their happy faces here,
+      And wretchedly I have no fear;
+    A little while, and I am gone.
+
+    Therewith she rose upon her feet,
+      And totter'd; cold and misery
+      Still made the deep sobs come, till she
+    At last stretch'd out her fingers sweet,
+
+    And caught the great sword in her hand;
+      And, stealing down the silent stair,
+      Barefooted in the morning air.
+    And only in her smock, did stand
+
+    Upright upon the green lawn grass;
+      And hope grew in her as she said:
+      I have thrown off the white and red,
+    And pray God it may come to pass
+
+    I meet him; if ten years go by
+      Before I meet him; if, indeed,
+      Meanwhile both soul and body bleed,
+    Yet there is end of misery,
+
+    And I have hope. He could not come,
+      But I can go to him and show
+      These new things I have got to know,
+    And make him speak, who has been dumb.
+
+    O Jehane! the red morning sun
+      Changed her white feet to glowing gold,
+      Upon her smock, on crease and fold,
+    Changed that to gold which had been dun.
+
+    O Miles, and Giles, and Isabeau,
+      Fair Ellayne le Violet,
+      Mary, Constance fille de fay!
+    Where is Jehane du Castel beau?
+
+    O big Gervaise ride apace!
+      Down to the hard yellow sand,
+      Where the water meets the land.
+    This is Jehane by her face.
+
+    Why has she a broken sword?
+      Mary! she is slain outright;
+      Verily a piteous sight;
+    Take her up without a word!
+
+    Giles and Miles and Gervaise there,
+      Ladies' Gard must meet the war;
+      Whatsoever knights these are,
+    Man the walls withouten fear!
+
+    Axes to the apple-trees,
+      Axes to the aspens tall!
+      Barriers without the wall
+    May be lightly made of these.
+
+    O poor shivering Isabeau;
+      Poor Ellayne le Violet,
+      Bent with fear! we miss to-day
+    Brave Jehane du Castel beau.
+
+    O poor Mary, weeping so!
+      Wretched Constance fille de fay!
+      Verily we miss to-day
+    Fair Jehane du Castel beau.
+
+    The apples now grow green and sour
+      Upon the mouldering castle-wall,
+      Before they ripen there they fall:
+    There are no banners on the tower,
+
+    The draggled swans most eagerly eat
+      The green weeds trailing in the moat;
+      Inside the rotting leaky boat
+    You see a slain man's stiffen'd feet.
+
+
+
+
+THE HAYSTACK IN THE FLOODS
+
+
+    Had she come all the way for this,
+    To part at last without a kiss?
+    Yea, had she borne the dirt and rain
+    That her own eyes might see him slain
+    Beside the haystack in the floods?
+
+    Along the dripping leafless woods,
+    The stirrup touching either shoe,
+    She rode astride as troopers do;
+    With kirtle kilted to her knee,
+    To which the mud splash'd wretchedly;
+    And the wet dripp'd from every tree
+    Upon her head and heavy hair,
+    And on her eyelids broad and fair;
+    The tears and rain ran down her face.
+    By fits and starts they rode apace,
+    And very often was his place
+    Far off from her; he had to ride
+    Ahead, to see what might betide
+    When the roads cross'd; and sometimes, when
+    There rose a murmuring from his men,
+    Had to turn back with promises.
+    Ah me! she had but little ease;
+    And often for pure doubt and dread
+    She sobb'd, made giddy in the head
+    By the swift riding; while, for cold,
+    Her slender fingers scarce could hold
+    The wet reins; yea, and scarcely, too,
+    She felt the foot within her shoe
+    Against the stirrup: all for this,
+    To part at last without a kiss
+    Beside the haystack in the floods.
+
+    For when they near'd that old soak'd hay,
+    They saw across the only way
+    That Judas, Godmar, and the three
+    Red running lions dismally
+    Grinn'd from his pennon, under which
+    In one straight line along the ditch,
+    They counted thirty heads.
+
+                                So then,
+    While Robert turn'd round to his men,
+    She saw at once the wretched end,
+    And, stooping down, tried hard to rend
+    Her coif the wrong way from her head,
+    And hid her eyes; while Robert said:
+    Nay, love, 'tis scarcely two to one,
+    At Poictiers where we made them run
+    So fast: why, sweet my love, good cheer,
+    The Gascon frontier is so near,
+    Nought after this.
+
+                        But: O! she said,
+    My God! my God! I have to tread
+    The long way back without you; then
+    The court at Paris; those six men;
+    The gratings of the Chatelet;
+    The swift Seine on some rainy day
+    Like this, and people standing by,
+    And laughing, while my weak hands try
+    To recollect how strong men swim.
+    All this, or else a life with him,
+    For which I should be damned at last,
+    Would God that this next hour were past!
+
+    He answer'd not, but cried his cry,
+    St. George for Marny! cheerily;
+    And laid his hand upon her rein.
+    Alas! no man of all his train
+    Gave back that cheery cry again;
+    And, while for rage his thumb beat fast
+    Upon his sword-hilt, some one cast
+    About his neck a kerchief long,
+    And bound him.
+
+                    Then they went along
+    To Godmar; who said: Now, Jehane,
+    Your lover's life is on the wane
+    So fast, that, if this very hour
+    You yield not as my paramour,
+    He will not see the rain leave off:
+    Nay, keep your tongue from gibe and scoff
+    Sir Robert, or I slay you now.
+
+    She laid her hand upon her brow,
+    Then gazed upon the palm, as though
+    She thought her forehead bled, and: No!
+    She said, and turn'd her head away,
+    As there were nothing else to say,
+    And everything were settled: red
+    Grew Godmar's face from chin to head:
+    Jehane, on yonder hill there stands
+    My castle, guarding well my lands;
+    What hinders me from taking you,
+    And doing that I list to do
+    To your fair wilful body, while
+    Your knight lies dead?
+
+                            A wicked smile
+    Wrinkled her face, her lips grew thin,
+    A long way out she thrust her chin:
+    You know that I should strangle you
+    While you were sleeping; or bite through
+    Your throat, by God's help: ah! she said,
+    Lord Jesus, pity your poor maid!
+    For in such wise they hem me in,
+    I cannot choose but sin and sin,
+    Whatever happens: yet I think
+    They could not make me eat or drink,
+    And so should I just reach my rest.
+    Nay, if you do not my behest,
+    O Jehane! though I love you well,
+    Said Godmar, would I fail to tell
+    All that I know? Foul lies, she said.
+    Eh? lies, my Jehane? by God's head,
+    At Paris folks would deem them true!
+    Do you know, Jehane, they cry for you:
+    Jehane the brown! Jehane the brown!
+    Give us Jehane to burn or drown!
+    Eh! gag me Robert! Sweet my friend,
+    This were indeed a piteous end
+    For those long fingers, and long feet,
+    And long neck, and smooth shoulders sweet;
+    An end that few men would forget
+    That saw it. So, an hour yet:
+    Consider, Jehane, which to take
+    Of life or death!
+
+                      So, scarce awake,
+    Dismounting, did she leave that place,
+    And totter some yards: with her face
+    Turn'd upward to the sky she lay,
+    Her head on a wet heap of hay,
+    And fell asleep: and while she slept,
+    And did not dream, the minutes crept
+    Round to the twelve again; but she,
+    Being waked at last, sigh'd quietly,
+    And strangely childlike came, and said:
+    I will not. Straightway Godmar's head,
+    As though it hung on strong wires, turn'd
+    Most sharply round, and his face burn'd.
+
+    For Robert, both his eyes were dry,
+    He could not weep, but gloomily
+    He seem'd to watch the rain; yea, too,
+    His lips were firm; he tried once more
+    To touch her lips; she reached out, sore
+    And vain desire so tortured them,
+    The poor grey lips, and now the hem
+    Of his sleeve brush'd them.
+
+                                With a start
+    Up Godmar rose, thrust them apart;
+    From Robert's throat he loosed the bands
+    Of silk and mail; with empty hands
+    Held out, she stood and gazed, and saw,
+    The long bright blade without a flaw
+    Glide out from Godmar's sheath, his hand
+    In Robert's hair; she saw him bend
+    Back Robert's head; she saw him send
+    The thin steel down; the blow told well,
+    Right backward the knight Robert fell,
+    And moaned as dogs do, being half dead,
+    Unwitting, as I deem: so then
+    Godmar turn'd grinning to his men,
+    Who ran, some five or six, and beat
+    His head to pieces at their feet.
+
+    Then Godmar turn'd again and said:
+    So, Jehane, the first fitte is read!
+    Take note, my lady, that your way
+    Lies backward to the Chatelet!
+    She shook her head and gazed awhile
+    At her cold hands with a rueful smile,
+    As though this thing had made her mad.
+
+    This was the parting that they had
+    Beside the haystack in the floods.
+
+
+
+
+TWO RED ROSES ACROSS THE MOON
+
+
+    There was a lady lived in a hall,
+    Large of her eyes, and slim and tall;
+    And ever she sung from noon to noon,
+    _Two red roses across the moon._
+
+    There was a knight came riding by
+    In early spring, when the roads were dry;
+    And he heard that lady sing at the noon,
+    _Two red roses across the moon._
+
+    Yet none the more he stopp'd at all,
+    But he rode a-gallop past the hall;
+    And left that lady singing at noon,
+    _Two red roses across the moon._
+
+    Because, forsooth, the battle was set,
+    And the scarlet and blue had got to be met,
+    He rode on the spur till the next warm noon:
+    _Two red roses across the moon._
+
+    But the battle was scatter'd from hill to hill,
+    From the windmill to the watermill;
+    And he said to himself, as it near'd the noon,
+    _Two red roses across the moon._
+
+    You scarce could see for the scarlet and blue,
+    A golden helm or a golden shoe:
+    So he cried, as the fight grew thick at the noon,
+    _Two red roses across the moon!_
+
+    Verily then the gold bore through
+    The huddled spears of the scarlet and blue;
+    And they cried, as they cut them down at the noon,
+    _Two red roses across the moon!_
+
+    I trow he stopp'd when he rode again
+    By the hall, though draggled sore with the rain;
+    And his lips were pinch'd to kiss at the noon
+    _Two red roses across the moon._
+
+    Under the may she stoop'd to the crown,
+    All was gold, there was nothing of brown;
+    And the horns blew up in the hall at noon,
+    _Two red roses across the moon._
+
+
+
+
+WELLAND RIVER
+
+
+    Fair Ellayne she walk'd by Welland river,
+      Across the lily lee:
+    O, gentle Sir Robert, ye are not kind
+      To stay so long at sea.
+
+    Over the marshland none can see
+      Your scarlet pennon fair;
+    O, leave the Easterlings alone,
+      Because of my golden hair.
+
+    The day when over Stamford bridge
+      That dear pennon I see
+    Go up toward the goodly street,
+      'Twill be a fair day for me.
+
+    O, let the bonny pennon bide
+      At Stamford, the good town,
+    And let the Easterlings go free,
+      And their ships go up and down.
+
+    For every day that passes by
+      I wax both pale and green,
+    From gold to gold of my girdle
+      There is an inch between.
+
+    I sew'd it up with scarlet silk
+      Last night upon my knee,
+    And my heart grew sad and sore to think
+      Thy face I'd never see.
+
+    I sew'd it up with scarlet silk,
+      As I lay upon my bed:
+    Sorrow! the man I'll never see
+      That had my maidenhead.
+
+    But as Ellayne sat on her window-seat
+      And comb'd her yellow hair,
+    She saw come over Stamford bridge
+      The scarlet pennon fair.
+
+    As Ellayne lay and sicken'd sore,
+      The gold shoes on her feet,
+    She saw Sir Robert and his men
+      Ride up the Stamford street.
+
+    He had a coat of fine red gold,
+      And a bascinet of steel;
+    Take note his goodly Collayne sword
+      Smote the spur upon his heel.
+
+    And by his side, on a grey jennet,
+      There rode a fair lady,
+    For every ruby Ellayne wore,
+      I count she carried three.
+
+    Say, was not Ellayne's gold hair fine,
+      That fell to her middle free?
+    But that lady's hair down in the street,
+      Fell lower than her knee.
+
+    Fair Ellayne's face, from sorrow and grief,
+      Was waxen pale and green:
+    That lady's face was goodly red,
+      She had but little tene.
+
+    But as he pass'd by her window
+      He grew a little wroth:
+    O, why does yon pale face look at me
+      From out the golden cloth?
+
+    It is some burd, the fair dame said,
+      That aye rode him beside,
+    Has come to see your bonny face
+      This merry summer-tide.
+
+    But Ellayne let a lily-flower
+      Light on his cap of steel:
+    O, I have gotten two hounds, fair knight,
+      The one has served me well;
+
+    But the other, just an hour agone,
+      Has come from over sea,
+    And all his fell is sleek and fine,
+      But little he knows of me.
+
+    Now, which shall I let go, fair knight,
+      And which shall bide with me?
+    O, lady, have no doubt to keep
+      The one that best loveth thee.
+
+    O, Robert, see how sick I am!
+      Ye do not so by me.
+    Lie still, fair love, have ye gotten harm
+      While I was on the sea?
+
+    Of one gift, Robert, that ye gave,
+      I sicken to the death,
+    I pray you nurse-tend me, my knight,
+      Whiles that I have my breath.
+
+    Six fathoms from the Stamford bridge
+      He left that dame to stand,
+    And whiles she wept, and whiles she cursed
+      That she ever had taken land.
+
+    He has kiss'd sweet Ellayne on the mouth,
+      And fair she fell asleep,
+    And long and long days after that
+      Sir Robert's house she did keep.
+
+
+
+
+RIDING TOGETHER
+
+
+    For many, many days together
+      The wind blew steady from the East;
+    For many days hot grew the weather,
+      About the time of our Lady's Feast.
+
+    For many days we rode together,
+      Yet met we neither friend nor foe;
+    Hotter and clearer grew the weather,
+      Steadily did the East wind blow.
+
+    We saw the trees in the hot, bright weather,
+      Clear-cut, with shadows very black,
+    As freely we rode on together
+      With helms unlaced and bridles slack.
+
+    And often as we rode together,
+      We, looking down the green-bank'd stream,
+    Saw flowers in the sunny weather,
+      And saw the bubble-making bream.
+
+    And in the night lay down together,
+      And hung above our heads the rood,
+    Or watch'd night-long in the dewy weather,
+      The while the moon did watch the wood.
+
+    Our spears stood bright and thick together,
+      Straight out the banners stream'd behind,
+    As we gallop'd on in the sunny weather,
+      With faces turn'd towards the wind.
+
+    Down sank our threescore spears together,
+      As thick we saw the pagans ride;
+    His eager face in the clear fresh weather,
+      Shone out that last time by my side.
+
+    Up the sweep of the bridge we dash'd together,
+      It rock'd to the crash of the meeting spears,
+    Down rain'd the buds of the dear spring weather,
+      The elm-tree flowers fell like tears.
+
+    There, as we roll'd and writhed together,
+      I threw my arms above my head,
+    For close by my side, in the lovely weather,
+      I saw him reel and fall back dead.
+
+    I and the slayer met together,
+      He waited the death-stroke there in his place,
+    With thoughts of death, in the lovely weather,
+      Gapingly mazed at my madden'd face.
+
+    Madly I fought as we fought together;
+      In vain: the little Christian band
+    The pagans drown'd, as in stormy weather,
+      The river drowns low-lying land.
+
+    They bound my blood-stain'd hands together,
+      They bound his corpse to nod by my side:
+    Then on we rode, in the bright March weather,
+      With clash of cymbals did we ride.
+
+    We ride no more, no more together;
+      My prison-bars are thick and strong,
+    I take no heed of any weather,
+      The sweet Saints grant I live not long.
+
+
+
+
+FATHER JOHN'S WAR-SONG
+
+
+              THE REAPERS.
+
+    So many reapers, Father John,
+    So many reapers and no little son,
+    To meet you when the day is done,
+    With little stiff legs to waddle and run?
+    Pray you beg, borrow, or steal one son.
+    Hurrah for the corn-sheaves of Father John!
+
+              FATHER JOHN.
+
+    O maiden Mary, be wary, be wary!
+    And go not down to the river,
+    Lest the kingfisher, your evil wisher,
+    Lure you down to the river,
+    Lest your white feet grow muddy,
+    Your red hair too ruddy
+    With the river-mud so red;
+    But when you are wed
+    Go down to the river.
+    O maiden Mary, be very wary,
+    And dwell among the corn!
+    See, this dame Alice, maiden Mary,
+    Her hair is thin and white,
+    But she is a housewife good and wary,
+    And a great steel key hangs bright
+    From her gown, as red as the flowers in corn;
+    She is good and old like the autumn corn.
+
+              MAIDEN MARY.
+
+    This is knight Roland, Father John,
+    Stark in his arms from a field half-won;
+    Ask him if he has seen your son:
+    Roland, lay your sword on the corn,
+    The piled-up sheaves of the golden corn.
+
+              KNIGHT ROLAND.
+
+    Why does she kiss me, Father John?
+    She is my true love truly won!
+    Under my helm is room for one,
+    But the molten lead-streams trickle and run
+    From my roof-tree, burning under the sun;
+    No corn to burn, we had eaten the corn,
+    There was no waste of the golden corn.
+
+              FATHER JOHN.
+
+    Ho, you reapers, away from the corn,
+    To march with the banner of Father John!
+
+              THE REAPERS.
+
+    We will win a house for Roland his son,
+    And for maiden Mary with hair like corn,
+    As red as the reddest of golden corn.
+
+              OMNES.
+
+    Father John, you have got a son,
+    Seven feet high when his helm is on
+    Pennon of Roland, banner of John,
+    Star of Mary, march well on.
+
+
+
+
+SIR GILES' WAR-SONG
+
+
+      _Ho! is there any will ride with me,
+          Sir Giles, le bon des barrieres?_
+
+    The clink of arms is good to hear,
+    The flap of pennons fair to see;
+      _Ho! is there any will ride with me,
+          Sir Giles, le bon des barrieres?_
+
+    The leopards and lilies are fair to see;
+    St. George Guienne! right good to hear:
+      _Ho! is there any will ride with me,
+          Sir Giles, le bon des barrieres?_
+
+    I stood by the barrier,
+    My coat being blazon'd fair to see;
+      _Ho! is there any will ride with me,
+          Sir Giles, le bon des barrieres?_
+
+    Clisson put out his head to see,
+    And lifted his basnet up to hear;
+      I pull'd him through the bars to ME,
+          _Sir Giles; le bon des barrieres._
+
+
+
+
+NEAR AVALON
+
+
+    A ship with shields before the sun,
+    Six maidens round the mast,
+    A red-gold crown on every one,
+    A green gown on the last.
+
+    The fluttering green banners there
+    Are wrought with ladies' heads most fair,
+    And a portraiture of Guenevere
+    The middle of each sail doth bear.
+
+    A ship which sails before the wind,
+    And round the helm six knights,
+    Their heaumes are on, whereby, half blind,
+    They pass by many sights.
+
+    The tatter'd scarlet banners there,
+    Right soon will leave the spear-heads bare.
+    Those six knights sorrowfully bear,
+    In all their heaumes some yellow hair.
+
+
+
+
+PRAISE OF MY LADY
+
+
+    My lady seems of ivory
+    Forehead, straight nose, and cheeks that be
+    Hollow'd a little mournfully.
+                  _Beata mea Domina!_
+
+    Her forehead, overshadow'd much
+    By bows of hair, has a wave such
+    As God was good to make for me.
+                  _Beata mea Domina!_
+
+    Not greatly long my lady's hair,
+    Nor yet with yellow colour fair,
+    But thick and crisped wonderfully:
+                  _Beata mea Domina!_
+
+    Heavy to make the pale face sad,
+    And dark, but dead as though it had
+    Been forged by God most wonderfully
+                  _Beata mea Domina!_
+
+    Of some strange metal, thread by thread,
+    To stand out from my lady's head,
+    Not moving much to tangle me.
+                  _Beata mea Domina!_
+
+    Beneath her brows the lids fall slow.
+    The lashes a clear shadow throw
+    Where I would wish my lips to be.
+                  _Beata mea Domina!_
+
+    Her great eyes, standing far apart,
+    Draw up some memory from her heart,
+    And gaze out very mournfully;
+                  _Beata mea Domina!_
+
+    So beautiful and kind they are,
+    But most times looking out afar,
+    Waiting for something, not for me.
+                  _Beata mea Domina!_
+
+    I wonder if the lashes long
+    Are those that do her bright eyes wrong,
+    For always half tears seem to be
+                  _Beata mea Domina!_
+
+    Lurking below the underlid,
+    Darkening the place where they lie hid:
+    If they should rise and flow for me!
+                  _Beata mea Domina!_
+
+    Her full lips being made to kiss,
+    Curl'd up and pensive each one is;
+    This makes me faint to stand and see.
+                  _Beata mea Domina!_
+
+    Her lips are not contented now,
+    Because the hours pass so slow
+    Towards a sweet time: (pray for me),
+                  _Beata mea Domina!_
+
+    Nay, hold thy peace! for who can tell?
+    But this at least I know full well,
+    Her lips are parted longingly,
+                  _Beata mea Domina!_
+
+    So passionate and swift to move,
+    To pluck at any flying love,
+    That I grow faint to stand and see.
+                  _Beata mea Domina_!
+
+    Yea! there beneath them is her chin,
+    So fine and round, it were a sin
+    To feel no weaker when I see
+                  _Beata mea Domina_!
+
+    God's dealings; for with so much care
+    And troublous, faint lines wrought in there,
+    He finishes her face for me.
+                  _Beata mea Domina_!
+
+    Of her long neck what shall I say?
+    What things about her body's sway,
+    Like a knight's pennon or slim tree
+                  _Beata mea Domina_!
+
+    Set gently waving in the wind;
+    Or her long hands that I may find
+    On some day sweet to move o'er me?
+                  _Beata mea Domina!_
+
+    God pity me though, if I miss'd
+    The telling, how along her wrist
+    The veins creep, dying languidly
+                  _Beata mea Domina!_
+
+    Inside her tender palm and thin.
+    Now give me pardon, dear, wherein
+    My voice is weak and vexes thee.
+                  _Beata mea Domina!_
+
+    All men that see her any time,
+    I charge you straightly in this rhyme,
+    What, and wherever you may be,
+                  _Beata mea Domina!_
+
+    To kneel before her; as for me,
+    I choke and grow quite faint to see
+    My lady moving graciously.
+                  _Beata mea Domina!_
+
+
+
+
+SUMMER DAWN
+
+
+    Pray but one prayer for me 'twixt thy closed lips;
+      Think but one thought of me up in the stars.
+    The summer night waneth, the morning light slips,
+      Faint and grey 'twixt the leaves of the aspen, betwixt the
+                cloud-bars,
+    That are patiently waiting there for the dawn:
+      Patient and colourless, though Heaven's gold
+    Waits to float through them along with the sun.
+    Far out in the meadows, above the young corn,
+      The heavy elms wait, and restless and cold
+    The uneasy wind rises; the roses are dun;
+    They pray the long gloom through for daylight new born,
+    Round the lone house in the midst of the corn.
+      Speak but one word to me over the corn,
+      Over the tender, bow'd locks of the corn.
+
+
+
+
+IN PRISON
+
+
+    Wearily, drearily,
+    Half the day long,
+    Flap the great banners
+    High over the stone;
+    Strangely and eerily
+    Sounds the wind's song,
+    Bending the banner-poles.
+
+    While, all alone,
+    Watching the loophole's spark,
+    Lie I, with life all dark,
+    Feet tether'd, hands fetter'd
+    Fast to the stone,
+    The grim walls, square letter'd
+    With prison'd men's groan.
+
+    Still strain the banner-poles
+    Through the wind's song,
+    Westward the banner rolls
+    Over my wrong.
+
+
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+ Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.
+ Edinburgh & London
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Note
+
+    Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without
+    note, whilst archaic spellings have been retained.
+
+    Many single- and double-quotation marks were omitted in the original
+    publication. Logical corrections, made from this text alone, would
+    only compound any discrepancies and therefore such punctuation
+    remains as printed.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Defence of Guenevere and Other
+Poems, by William Morris
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DEFENCE OF GUENEVERE ***
+
+***** This file should be named 22650.txt or 22650.zip *****
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+        https://www.gutenberg.org/2/2/6/5/22650/
+
+Produced by Thierry Alberto, Stephen Blundell and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
+will be renamed.
+
+Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
+one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
+(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
+permission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+https://gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
+paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.  See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
+or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+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.org
+
+1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
+form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
+     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
+     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
+     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+     License.  You must require such a user to return or
+     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+     Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+     of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org.
+
+
+Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
+https://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at https://pglaf.org
+
+For additional contact information:
+     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+     Chief Executive and Director
+     gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+
+Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit https://pglaf.org
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including including checks, online payments and credit card
+donations.  To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate
+
+
+Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+     https://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
diff --git a/22650.zip b/22650.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f55f859
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22650.zip
diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6312041
--- /dev/null
+++ b/LICENSE.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,11 @@
+This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements,
+metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be
+in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES.
+
+Procedures for determining public domain status are described in
+the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org.
+
+No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in
+jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize
+this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright
+status under the laws that apply to them.
diff --git a/README.md b/README.md
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6b84da9
--- /dev/null
+++ b/README.md
@@ -0,0 +1,2 @@
+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #22650 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/22650)