The Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems Part 22

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 pa.s.sed, 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 gra.s.s: The weary days pa.s.s, 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 gra.s.s; And hope grew in her as she said: I have thrown off the white and red, And pray G.o.d it may come to pa.s.s

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.