Page:Early poems of William Morris.djvu/89



Started a little at Sir Lambert's name, But otherwise she listen'd scarce at all To what I said. Then with moist, weeping eyes. And quivering lips, that scarcely let her speak. She said, "I love you."

The remnant of that hour; her hand smooth'd down My foolish head; she kiss'd me all about My face, and through the tangles of my beard Her little fingers crept!

Not this good way: my lord but sent and said That Lambert's sayings were taken at their worth, Therefore that day I was to start, and keep This hold against the French; and I am here,—

A sprawling lonely gard with rotten walls, And no one to bring aid if Guesclin comes, Or any other. There's a pennon now! At last. But not the constable's, whose arms, I wonder, does it bear? Three golden rings On a red ground; my cousin's by the rood! Well, I should like to kill him, certainly, But to be kill'd by him— That's for a herald; I doubt this does not mean assaulting yet.

Enter What says the herald of our cousin, sir?