Down rain'd the buds of the dear spring

weather,

The elm-tree flowers fell like tears.

There, as we roll'd and writhed together,
I threw my arms above my head,
For close by my side, in the lovely
weather,

I saw him reel and fall back dead.

I and the slayer met together,

He waited the death-stroke there in his place,

With thoughts of death, in the lovely weather,

Gapingly mazed at my madden'd face.

Madly I fought as we fought together; In vain the little Christian band

The pagans drown'd, as in stormy

- weather.

Sir Ozana. All day long and every day, From Christmas-Eve to Whit-Sunday, Within that Chapel-aisle I lay,

And no man came a-near.

Naked to the waist was I,
And deep within my breast did lie,
Though no man any blood could spy,
The truncheon of a spear.

No meat did ever pass my lips
Those days. Alas! the sunlight slips
From off the gilded parclose, dips,

And night comes on apace.

My arms lay back behind my head ;
Over my raised-up knees was spread
A samite cloth of white and red;
A rose lay on my face.

TWIXT the sunlight and the shade
Float up memories of my maid:

God, remember Guendolen !
Gold or gems she did not wear,
But her yellow rippled hair,

Like a veil, hid Guendolen !
"Twixt the sunlight and the shade,
My rough hands so strangely made,
Folded Golden Guendolen.

Hands used to grip the sword-hilt hard,
Framed her face, while on the sward

Tears fell down from Guendolen. Guendolen now speaks no word, Hands fold round about the sword: Now no more of Guendolen. Only 'twixt the light and shade Floating memories of my maid Make me pray for Guendolen.

GOLD HAIR

1856.

Is it not true that every day
She climbeth up the same strange way,
Her scarlet cloak spread broad and gay,
Over my golden hair?

When I undo the knotted mass,
Fathoms below the shadows pass
Over my hair along the grass.
O my golden hair!

See on the marble parapet,

I lean my brow, strive to forget
That fathoms below my hair grows we
With the dew, my golden hair.

See on the marble parapet,
The faint red stains with tears are wet;
The long years pass, no help comes yet
To free my golden hair.

"Showing him well, and making his commands

Seem to be God's commands, moreover, too,

Holding within his hands the cloths on wands;

"And one of these strange choosing cloths was blue,

Wavy and long, and one cut short and red;

No man could tell the better of the two.

"After a shivering half-hour you said: God help! heaven's color, the blue;' and he said, 'hell.' Perhaps you would then roll upon your bed,

"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,

Behold, my judges, then the cloths were brought;

While I was dizzied thus, old thoughts would crowd,

'Belonging to the time ere I was bought By Arthur's great name and his little love:

Must I give up for ever then, I thought, "That which I deemed would ever round me move

Glorifying all things; for a little word, Scarce ever meant at all, must I now prove

"Stone-cold for ever? Pray you, does the Lord

Will that all folks should be quite happy and good?

I love God now a little, if this cord "Were broken, once for all what striving could

Make me love anything in earth or heaven?

So day by day it grew, as if one should "Slip slowly down some path worn smooth and even,

Down to a cool sea on a summer day; Yet still in slipping there was some small leaven

"Of stretched hands catching small stones by the way,

Until one surely reached the sea at last, And felt strange new joy as the worn head lay

the sky,

And trebled all the beauty: to the bone,

"Yea right through to my heart, grown very shy

With wary thoughts, it pierced, and made me glad;

Exceedingly glad, and I knew verily,

"A little thing just then had made me mad;

I dared not think, as I was wont to do, Sometimes, upon my beauty; if I had

"Held out my long hand up against the blue,

And, looking on the tenderly darken'd fingers,

Thought that by rights one ought to see quite through,

"There, see you, where the soft still

light yet lingers,

Round by the edges; what should I have done,

If this had joined with yellow spotted singers,

"And startling green drawn upward by the sun?

But shouting, loosed out, see now! all my hair,

And trancedly stood watching the west wind run

"With faintest half-heard breathing sound why there

I lose my head e'en now in doing this; But shortly listen: in that garden fair

"Came Launcelot walking; this is true, the kiss

Wherewith we kissed in meeting that spring day,

I scarce dare talk of the remember'd bliss,

"When both our mouths went wandering in one way,

And aching sorely, met among the leaves;

Our hands being left behind strained far away.

"Never within a yard of my bright sleeves

Had Launcelot come before: and now

so nigh!

After that day why is it Guenevere grieves?

Nevertheless you, O Sir Gauwaine, lie, Whatever happened on through all those years,

God knows I speak truth, saying that you lie.