Page:Early poems of William Morris.djvu/31



"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.