Page:Early poems of William Morris.djvu/246

 Consider, Jehane, which to take

Of life or death!"

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 reach'd out, sore

And vain desire so tortured them,

The poor grey lips, and now the hem

Of his sleeve brush'd them.

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