A Selection from the Poems of William Morris. William Morris
law "To make a queen say why some spots of red Lie on her coverlet? or will you say, 'Your hands are white, lady, as when you wed, "'Where did you bleed?' and must I stammer out—'Nay', I blush indeed, fair lord, only to rend My sleeve up to my shoulder, where there lay "'A knife-point last night:' so must I defend The honour of the lady Guenevere? Not so, fair lords, even if the world should end "This very day, and you were judges here Instead of God. Did you see Mellyagraunce When Launcelot stood by him? what white fear "Curdled his blood, and how his teeth did dance, His side sink in? as my knight cried and said, 'Slayer of unarm'd men, here is a chance! "'Setter of traps, I pray you guard your head, By God I am so glad to fight with you, Stripper of ladies, that my hand feels lead "'For driving weight; hurrah now! draw and do, For all my wounds are moving in my breast, And I am getting mad with waiting so.' "He struck his hands together o'er the beast, Who fell down flat, and grovell'd at his feet, And groan'd at being slain so young—'at least.' "My knight said, 'Rise you, sir, who are so fleet At catching ladies, half-arm'd will I fight, My left side all uncover'd!' then I weet, "Up sprang Sir Mellyagraunce with great delight Upon his knave's face; not until just then Did I quite hate him, as I saw my knight "Along the lists look to my stake and pen With such a joyous smile, it made me sigh From agony beneath my waist-chain, when "The fight began, and to me they drew nigh; Ever Sir Launcelot kept him on the right, And traversed warily, and ever high "And fast leapt caitiff's sword, until my knight Sudden threw up his sword to his left hand, Caught it, and swung it; that was all the fight. "Except a spout of blood on the hot land; For it was hottest summer; and I know I wonder'd how the fire, while I should stand, "And burn, against the heat, would quiver so, Yards above my head; thus these matters went: Which things were only warnings of the woe "That fell on me. Yet Mellyagraunce was shent, For Mellyagraunce had fought against the Lord; Therefore, my lords, take heed lest you be blent "With all this wickedness; say no rash word Against me, being so beautiful; my eyes, Wept all away the grey, may bring some sword "To drown you in your blood; see my breast rise, Like waves of purple sea, as here I stand; And how my arms are moved in wonderful wise, "Yea also at my full heart's strong command, See through my long throat how the words go up In ripples to my mouth; how in my hand "The shadow lies like wine within a cup Of marvellously colour'd gold; yea now This little wind is rising, look you up, "And wonder how the light is falling so Within my moving tresses: will you dare When you have looked a little on my brow, "To say this thing is vile? or will you care For any plausible lies of cunning woof, When you can see my face with no lie there "For ever? am I not a gracious proof— 'But in your chamber Launcelot was found'— Is there a good knight then would stand aloof, "When a queen says with gentle queenly sound: 'O true as steel come now and talk with me, I love to see your step upon the ground "'Unwavering, also well I love to see That gracious smile light up your face, and hear Your wonderful words, that all mean verily "'The thing they seem to mean: good friend, so dear To me in everything, come here to-night, Or else the hours will pass most dull and drear; "'If you come not, I fear this time I might Get thinking over much of times gone by, When I was young, and green hope was in sight: "'For no man cares now to know why I sigh; And no man comes to sing me pleasant songs, Nor any brings me the sweet flowers that lie "'So thick in the gardens; therefore one so longs To see you, Launcelot; that we may be Like children once again, free from all wrongs "'Just for one night.' Did he not come to me? What thing could keep true Launcelot away If I said 'Come?' there was one less than three "In my quiet room that night, and we were gay; Till sudden I rose up, weak, pale, and sick, Because a bawling broke our dream up, yea "I looked at Launcelot's face and could not speak, For he looked helpless too, for a little while; Then I remember how I tried to shriek, "And could not, but fell down; from tile to tile The stones they threw up rattled o'er my head And made me dizzier; till within a while "My maids were all about me, and my head On Launcelot's breast was being soothed away From its white chattering, until Launcelot said— "By God! I will not tell you more to-day, Judge any way you will—what matters it? You know quite well the story of that fray, "How Launcelot still'd their bawling, the mad fit That caught up Gauwaine—all, all, verily, But just that which would save me; these things flit. "Nevertheless you, O Sir Gauwaine, lie, Whatever may have happen'd these long years, God knows I speak truth, saying that you lie! "All I have said is truth, by Christ's dear tears." She would not speak another word, but stood Turn'd sideways; listening, like a man who hears His brother's trumpet sounding through the wood Of his foe's lances. She lean'd eagerly, And gave a slight spring sometimes, as she could At last hear something really; joyfully Her cheek grew crimson, as the headlong speed Of the roan charger drew all men to see, The knight who came was Launcelot at good need.
A GOOD KNIGHT IN PRISON.
This castle where I dwell, it stands A long way off from Christian lands, A long way off my lady's hands, A long way off the aspen trees, And murmur of the lime-tree bees. But down the Valley of the Rose My lady often hawking goes, Heavy of cheer; oft turns behind, Leaning towards the western wind, Because it bringeth to her mind Sad whisperings of happy times, The face of him who sings these rhymes. King Guilbert rides beside her there, Bends low and calls her very fair, And strives, by pulling down his hair, To hide from my dear lady's ken The grisly gash I gave him, when I cut him down at Camelot; However he strives, he hides it not, That tourney will not be forgot, Besides, it is King Guilbert's lot, Whatever he says she answers not. Now tell me, you that are in love, From the king's son to the wood-dove, Which is the better, he or I? For this king means that I should die In this lone Pagan castle, where The flowers droop in the bad air On the September evening. Look, now I take mine ease and sing, Counting as but a little thing The foolish spite of a bad king. For these vile things that hem me in, These Pagan beasts who live in sin, The sickly flowers pale and wan, The grim blue-bearded castellan, The stanchions half worn-out with rust, Whereto their banner vile they trust— Why, all these things I hold them just Like dragons in a missal book, Wherein, whenever we may look, We see no horror, yea, delight We have, the colours are so bright; Likewise we note the specks of white, And the great plates of burnish'd gold. Just so this Pagan castle old, And everything I can see there, Sick-pining in the marshland air, I note; I will go over now, Like one who paints with knitted brow, The flowers and all things one by one, From the snail on the wall to the setting sun. Four great walls, and a little one That leads down to the barbican, Which walls with many spears they man, When news comes to the castellan Of Launcelot being in the land. And as I sit here, close at hand Four spikes of sad sick sunflowers stand, The castellan with a long wand Cuts down their leaves as he goes by, Ponderingly, with screw'd-up eye, And fingers twisted in his beard— Nay, was it a knight's shout I heard? I have a hope makes me afeard: It cannot be, but if some dream Just for a minute made me deem I saw among the flowers there My lady's face with long red hair, Pale, ivory-colour'd dear face come, As I was wont to see her some Fading September afternoon, And kiss me, saying nothing, soon To leave me by myself again; Could I get this by longing: vain! The castellan is gone: I see On one broad yellow flower a bee Drunk with much honey— Christ! again, Some distant knight's voice brings me pain, I thought I had forgot to feel, I never heard the blissful steel These ten years past; year after year, Through all my hopeless sojourn here, No Christian pennon has been near; Laus Deo! the dragging wind draws on Over the marches, battle won, Knights' shouts, and axes hammering, Yea, quicker now the dint and ring Of flying hoofs; ah, castellan, When they come back count man for man, Say whom you miss.
The Pagans, from the battlements.
Mahmoud to aid! Why flee ye so like men dismay'd?
The Pagans, from without.
Nay, haste! for here is Launcelot, Who follows quick upon us, hot And shouting with his men-at-arms.
Sir Guy.
Also the Pagans raise alarms, And ring the bells for fear; at last My prison walls will be well past.