Page:Early poems of William Morris.djvu/87



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, 'T was 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."

If I could but have seen her on that day, Then, when they sent me off!

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—

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