The Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems Part 21

How long ago was it, how long ago, He came to this tower with hands full of snow?

Kneel down, O love Louise, kneel down! he said, And sprinkled the dusty snow over my head.

He watch'd the snow melting, it ran through my hair, Ran over my shoulders, white shoulders and bare.

I cannot weep for thee, poor love Louise, For my tears are all hidden deep under the seas;

In a gold and blue casket she keeps all my tears, But my eyes are no longer blue, as in old years;

Yea, they grow grey with time, grow small and dry, I am so feeble now, would I might die.

_And in truth the great bell overhead Left off his pealing for the dead, Perchance, because the wind was dead._

Will he come back again, or is he dead?

O! is he sleeping, my scarf round his head?

Or did they strangle him as he lay there, With the long scarlet scarf I used to wear?

Only I pray thee, Lord, let him come here!

Both his soul and his body to me are most dear.

Dear Lord, that loves me, I wait to receive Either body or spirit this wild Christmas-eve.

_Through the floor shot up a lily red, With a patch of earth from the land of the dead, For he was strong in the land of the dead._

What matter that his cheeks were pale, His kind kiss'd lips all grey?

O, love Louise, have you waited long?

O, my lord Arthur, yea.

What if his hair that brush'd her cheek Was stiff with frozen rime?

His eyes were grown quite blue again, As in the happy time.

O, love Louise, this is the key Of the happy golden land!

O, sisters, cross the bridge with me, My eyes are full of sand.

What matter that I cannot see, If ye take me by the hand?

_And ever the great bell overhead, And the tumbling seas mourned for the dead; For their song ceased, and they were dead._

THE TUNE OF SEVEN TOWERS

No one goes there now: For what is left to fetch away From the desolate battlements all arow, And the lead roof heavy and grey?

_Therefore, said fair Yoland of the flowers, This is the tune of Seven Towers._

No one walks there now; Except in the white moonlight The white ghosts walk in a row; If one could see it, an awful sight, _Listen! said fair Yoland of the flowers, This is the tune of Seven Towers._

But none can see them now, Though they sit by the side of the moat, Feet half in the water, there in a row, Long hair in the wind afloat.

_Therefore, said fair Yoland of the flowers, This is the tune of Seven Towers._

If any will go to it now, He must go to it all alone, Its gates will not open to any row Of glittering spears: will _you_ go alone?

_Listen! said fair Yoland of the flowers, This is the tune of Seven Towers._

By my love go there now, To fetch me my coif away, My coif and my kirtle, with pearls arow, Oliver, go to-day!

_Therefore, said fair Yoland of the flowers, This is the tune of Seven Towers._

I am unhappy now, I cannot tell you why; If you go, the priests and I in a row Will pray that you may not die.

_Listen! said fair Yoland of the flowers, This is the tune of Seven Towers._

If you will go for me now, I will kiss your mouth at last; [_She sayeth inwardly._]

(_The graves stand grey in a row._) Oliver, hold me fast!

_Therefore, said fair Yoland of the flowers, This is the tune of Seven Towers._

GOLDEN WINGS

Midways of a walled garden, In the happy poplar land, Did an ancient castle stand, With an old knight for a warden.

Many scarlet bricks there were In its walls, and old grey stone; Over which red apples shone At the right time of the year.

On the bricks the green moss grew.

Yellow lichen on the stone, Over which red apples shone; Little war that castle knew.

Deep green water fill'd the moat, Each side had a red-brick lip, Green and mossy with the drip Of dew and rain; there was a boat

Of carven wood, with hangings green About the stern; it was great bliss For lovers to sit there and kiss In the hot summer noons, not seen.

Across the moat the fresh west wind In very little ripples went; The way the heavy aspens bent Towards it, was a thing to mind.

The painted drawbridge over it Went up and down with gilded chains, 'Twas pleasant in the summer rains Within the bridge-house there to sit.

There were five swans that ne'er did eat The water-weeds, for ladies came Each day, and young knights did the same, And gave them cakes and bread for meat.

They had a house of painted wood, A red roof gold-spiked over it, Wherein upon their eggs to sit Week after week; no drop of blood,

Drawn from men's bodies by sword-blows, Came ever there, or any tear; Most certainly from year to year 'Twas pleasant as a Provence rose.

The banners seem'd quite full of ease, That over the turret-roofs hung down; The battlements could get no frown From the flower-moulded cornices.

Who walked in that garden there?

Miles and Giles and Isabeau, Tall Jehane du Castel beau, Alice of the golden hair,

Big Sir Gervaise, the good knight, Fair Ellayne le Violet, Mary, Constance fille de fay, Many dames with footfall light.