Page:Early poems of William Morris.djvu/88



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 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,