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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=538822" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>King Arthur's Tomb</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hot August noon: already on that day<br>Since sunrise through the Wiltshire downs, most sad<br>Of mouth and eye, he had gone leagues of way;<br>Ay and by night, till whether good or bad</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He was, he knew not, though he knew perchance<br>That he was Launcelot, the bravest knight<br>Of all who since the world was, have borne lance,<br>Or swung their swords in wrong cause or in right.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Nay, he knew nothing now, except that where<br>The Glastonbury gilded towers shine,<br>A lady dwelt, whose name was Guenevere;<br>This he knew also; that some fingers twine,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Not only in a man's hair, even his heart,<br>(Making him good or bad I mean,) but in his life,<br>Skies, earth, men's looks and deeds, all that has part,<br>Not being ourselves, in that half-sleep, half-strife,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">(Strange sleep, strange strife,) that men call living; so<br>Was Launcelot most glad when the moon rose,<br>Because it brought new memories of her. "Lo,<br>Between the trees a large moon, the wind lows</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Not loud, but as a cow begins to low,<br>Wishing for strength to make the herdsman hear:<br>The ripe corn gathereth dew; yea, long ago,<br>In the old garden life, my Guenevere</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Loved to sit still among the flowers, till night<br>Had quite come on, hair loosen'd, for she said,<br>Smiling like heaven, that its fairness might<br>Draw up the wind sooner to cool her head.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Now while I ride how quick the moon gets small,<br>As it did then: I tell myself a tale<br>That will not last beyond the whitewashed wall,<br>Thoughts of some joust must help me through the vale,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Keep this till after: How Sir Gareth ran<br>A good course that day under my Queen's eyes,<br>And how she sway'd laughing at Dinadan.<br>No. Back again, the other thoughts will rise,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"And yet I think so fast 'twill end right soon:<br>Verily then I think, that Guenevere,<br>Made sad by dew and wind, and tree-barred moon,<br>Did love me more than ever, was more dear</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"To me than ever, she would let me lie<br>And kiss her feet, or, if I sat behind,<br>Would drop her hand and arm most tenderly,<br>And touch my mouth. And she would let me wind</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Her hair around my neck, so that it fell<br>Upon my red robe, strange in the twilight<br>With many unnamed colours, till the bell<br>Of her mouth on my cheek sent a delight</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Through all my ways of being; like the stroke<br>Wherewith God threw all men upon the face<br>When he took Enoch, and when Enoch woke<br>With a changed body in the happy place.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Once, I remember, as I sat beside,<br>She turn'd a little, and laid back her head,<br>And slept upon my breast; I almost died<br>In those night-watches with my love and dread.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"There lily-like she bow'd her head and slept,<br>And I breathed low, and did not dare to move,<br>But sat and quiver'd inwardly, thoughts crept,<br>And frighten'd me with pulses of my Love.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"The stars shone out above the doubtful green<br>Of her bodice, in the green sky overhead;<br>Pale in the green sky were the stars I ween,<br>Because the moon shone like a star she shed</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"When she dwelt up in heaven a while ago,<br>And ruled all things but God: the night went on,<br>The wind grew cold, and the white moon grew low,<br>One hand had fallen down, and now lay on</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"My cold stiff palm; there were no colours then<br>For near an hour, and I fell asleep<br>In spite of all my striving, even when<br>I held her whose name-letters make me leap.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"I did not sleep long, feeling that in sleep<br>I did some loved one wrong, so that the sun<br>Had only just arisen from the deep<br>Still land of colours, when before me one</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Stood whom I knew, but scarcely dared to touch,<br>She seemed to have changed so in the night;<br>Moreover she held scarlet lilies, such<br>As Maiden Margaret bears upon the light</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Of the great church walls, natheless did I walk<br>Through the fresh wet woods, and the wheat that morn,<br>Touching her hair and hand and mouth, and talk<br>Of love we held, nigh hid among the corn.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Back to the palace, ere the sun grew high,<br>We went, and in a cool green room all day<br>I gazed upon the arras giddily,<br>Where the wind set the silken kings a-sway.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"I could not hold her hand, or see her face;<br>For which may God forgive me! but I think,<br>Howsoever, that she was not in that place."<br>These memories Launcelot was quick to drink;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And when these fell, some paces past the wall,<br>There rose yet others, but they wearied more,<br>And tasted not so sweet; they did not fall<br>So soon, but vaguely wrenched his strained heart sore</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In shadowy slipping from his grasp: these gone,<br>A longing followed; if he might but touch<br>That Guenevere at once! Still night, the lone<br>Grey horse's head before him vex'd him much,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In steady nodding over the grey road:<br>Still night, and night, and night, and emptied heart<br>Of any stories; what a dismal load<br>Time grew at last, yea, when the night did part,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And let the sun flame over all, still there<br>The horse's grey ears turn'd this way and that,<br>And still he watch'd them twitching in the glare<br>Of the morning sun, behind them still he sat,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Quite wearied out with all the wretched night,<br>Until about the dustiest of the day,<br>On the last down's brow he drew his rein in sight<br>Of the Glastonbury roofs that choke the way.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And he was now quite giddy as before,<br>When she slept by him, tired out, and her hair<br>Was mingled with the rushes on the floor,<br>And he, being tired too, was scarce aware</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Of her presence; yet as he sat and gazed,<br>A shiver ran throughout him, and his breath<br>Came slower, he seem'd suddenly amazed,<br>As though he had not heard of Arthur's death.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">This for a moment only, presently<br>He rode on giddy still, until he reach'd<br>A place of apple-trees, by the thorn-tree<br>Wherefrom St. Joseph in the days past preached.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dazed there he laid his head upon a tomb,<br>Not knowing it was Arthur's, at which sight<br>One of her maidens told her, "He is come,"<br>And she went forth to meet him; yet a blight</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Had settled on her, all her robes were black,<br>With a long white veil only; she went slow,<br>As one walks to be slain, her eyes did lack<br>Half her old glory, yea, alas! the glow</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Had left her face and hands; this was because<br>As she lay last night on her purple bed,<br>Wishing for morning, grudging every pause<br>Of the palace clocks, until that Launcelot's head</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Should lie on her breast, with all her golden hair<br>Each side: when suddenly the thing grew drear,<br>In morning twilight, when the grey downs bare<br>Grew into lumps of sin to Guenevere.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">At first she said no word, but lay quite still,<br>Only her mouth was open, and her eyes<br>Gazed wretchedly about from hill to hill;<br>As though she asked, not with so much surprise</div><div style="margin:10px 0">As tired disgust, what made them stand up there<br>So cold and grey. After, a spasm took<br>Her face, and all her frame, she caught her hair,<br>All her hair, in both hands, terribly she shook,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And rose till she was sitting in the bed,<br>Set her teeth hard, and shut her eyes and seem'd<br>As though she would have torn it from her head,<br>Natheless she dropp'd it, lay down, as she deem'd</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It matter'd not whatever she might do:<br>O Lord Christ! pity on her ghastly face!<br>Those dismal hours while the cloudless blue<br>Drew the sun higher: He did give her grace;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Because at last she rose up from her bed,<br>And put her raiment on, and knelt before<br>The blessed rood, and with her dry lips said,<br>Muttering the words against the marble floor:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Unless you pardon, what shall I do, Lord,<br>But go to hell? and there see day by day<br>Foul deed on deed, hear foulest word on word,<br>For ever and ever, such as on the way</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"To Camelot I heard once from a churl,<br>That curled me up upon my jennet's neck<br>With bitter shame; how then, Lord, should I curl<br>For ages and for ages? dost thou reck</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"That I am beautiful, Lord, even as you<br>And your dear mother? why did I forget<br>You were so beautiful, and good, and true,<br>That you loved me so, Guenevere? O yet</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"If even I go to hell, I cannot choose<br>But love you, Christ, yea, though I cannot keep<br>From loving Launcelot; O Christ! must I lose<br>My own heart's love? see, though I cannot weep,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Yet am I very sorry for my sin;<br>Moreover, Christ, I cannot bear that hell,<br>I am most fain to love you, and to win<br>A place in heaven some time: I cannot tell:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Speak to me, Christ! I kiss, kiss, kiss your feet;<br>Ah! now I weep!" The maid said, "By the tomb<br>He waiteth for you, lady," coming fleet,<br>Not knowing what woe filled up all the room.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So Guenevere rose and went to meet him there,<br>He did not hear her coming, as he lay<br>On Arthur's head, till some of her long hair<br>Brush'd on the new-cut stone: "Well done! to pray</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"For Arthur, my dear Lord, the greatest king<br>That ever lived." "Guenevere! Guenevere!<br>Do you not know me, are you gone mad? fling<br>Your arms and hair about me, lest I fear</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"You are not Guenevere, but some other thing."<br>"Pray you forgive me, fair lord Launcelot!<br>I am not mad, but I am sick; they cling,<br>God's curses, unto such as I am; not</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Ever again shall we twine arms and lips."<br>"Yea, she is mad: thy heavy law, O Lord,<br>Is very tight about her now, and grips<br>Her poor heart, so that no right word</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Can reach her mouth; so, Lord, forgive her now,<br>That she not knowing what she does, being mad,<br>Kills me in this way: Guenevere, bend low<br>And kiss me once! for God's love kiss me! sad</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Though your face is, you look much kinder now;<br>Yea once, once for the last time kiss me, lest I die."<br>"Christ! my hot lips are very near his brow,<br>Help me to save his soul! Yea, verily,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Across my husband's head, fair Launcelot!<br>Fair serpent mark'd with V upon the head!<br>This thing we did while yet he was alive,<br>Why not, O twisting knight, now he is dead?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Yea, shake! shake now and shiver! if you can<br>Remember anything for agony,<br>Pray you remember how when the wind ran<br>One cool spring evening through fair aspen-tree,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"And elm and oak about the palace there<br>The king came back from battle, and I stood<br>To meet him, with my ladies, on the stair,<br>My face made beautiful with my young blood."</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Will she lie now, Lord God?" "Remember too,<br>Wrung heart, how first before the knights there came<br>A royal bier, hung round with green and blue,<br>About it shone great tapers with sick flame.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"And thereupon Lucius, the Emperor,<br>Lay royal-robed, but stone-cold now and dead,<br>Not able to hold sword or sceptre more,<br>But not quite grim; because his cloven head</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Bore no marks now of Launcelot's bitter sword,<br>Being by embalmers deftly solder'd up;<br>So still it seem'd the face of a great lord,<br>Being mended as a craftsman mends a cup.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Also the heralds sung rejoicingly<br>To their long trumpets; 'Fallen under shield,<br>Here lieth Lucius, King of Italy,<br>Slain by Lord Launcelot in open field.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Thereat the people shouted: 'Launcelot!'<br>And through the spears I saw you drawing nigh,<br>You and Lord Arthur: nay, I saw you not,<br>But rather Arthur, God would not let die,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"I hoped, these many years; he should grow great,<br>And in his great arms still encircle me,<br>Kissing my face, half blinded with the heat<br>Of king's love for the queen I used to be.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Launcelot, Launcelot, why did he take your hand,<br>When he had kissed me in his kingly way?<br>Saying: 'This is the knight whom all the land<br>Calls Arthur's banner, sword, and shield to-day;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"'Cherish him, love.' Why did your long lips cleave<br>In such strange way unto my fingers then?<br>So eagerly glad to kiss, so loath to leave<br>When you rose up? Why among helmed men</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Could I always tell you by your long strong arms,<br>And sway like an angel's in your saddle there?<br>Why sicken'd I so often with alarms<br>Over the tilt-yard? Why were you more fair</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Than aspens in the autumn at their best?<br>Why did you fill all lands with your great fame,<br>So that Breuse even, as he rode, fear'd lest<br>At turning of the way your shield should flame?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Was it nought then, my agony and strife?<br>When as day passed by day, year after year,<br>I found I could not live a righteous life!<br>Didst ever think queens held their truth for dear?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"O, but your lips say: 'Yea, but she was cold<br>Sometimes, always uncertain as the spring;<br>When I was sad she would be overbold,<br>Longing for kisses. When war-bells did ring,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"'The back-toll'd bells of noisy Camelot.'"<br>"Now, Lord God, listen! listen, Guenevere,<br>Though I am weak just now, I think there's not<br>A man who dares to say: 'You hated her,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"'And left her moaning while you fought your fill<br>In the daisied meadows!' lo you her thin hand,<br>That on the carven stone can not keep still,<br>Because she loves me against God's command,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Has often been quite wet with tear on tear,<br>Tears Launcelot keeps somewhere, surely not<br>In his own heart, perhaps in Heaven, where<br>He will not be these ages." "Launcelot!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Loud lips, wrung heart! I say when the bells rang,<br>The noisy back-toll'd bells of Camelot,<br>There were two spots on earth, the thrushes sang<br>In the lonely gardens where my love was not,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Where I was almost weeping; I dared not<br>Weep quite in those days, lest one maid should say,<br>In tittering whispers: 'Where is Launcelot<br>To wipe with some kerchief those tears away?'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Another answer sharply with brows knit,<br>And warning hand up, scarcely lower though:<br>'You speak too loud, see you, she heareth it,<br>This tigress fair has claws, as I well know,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"'As Launcelot knows too, the poor knight! well-a-day!<br>Why met he not with Iseult from the West,<br>Or better still, Iseult of Brittany?<br>Perchance indeed quite ladyless were best.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Alas, my maids, you loved not overmuch<br>Queen Guenevere, uncertain as sunshine<br>In March; forgive me! for my sin being such,<br>About my whole life, all my deeds did twine,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Made me quite wicked; as I found out then,<br>I think; in the lonely palace where each morn<br>We went, my maids and I, to say prayers when<br>They sang mass in the chapel on the lawn.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"And every morn I scarce could pray at all,<br>For Launcelot's red-golden hair would play,<br>Instead of sunlight, on the painted wall,<br>Mingled with dreams of what the priest did say;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Grim curses out of Peter and of Paul;<br>Judging of strange sins in Leviticus;<br>Another sort of writing on the wall,<br>Scored deep across the painted heads of us.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Christ sitting with the woman at the well,<br>And Mary Magdalen repenting there,<br>Her dimmed eyes scorch'd and red at sight of hell<br>So hardly 'scaped, no gold light on her hair.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"And if the priest said anything that seemed<br>To touch upon the sin they said we did,<br>(This in their teeth) they looked as if they deem'd<br>That I was spying what thoughts might be hid</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Under green-cover'd bosoms, heaving quick<br>Beneath quick thoughts; while they grew red with shame,<br>And gazed down at their feet: while I felt sick,<br>And almost shriek'd if one should call my name.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"The thrushes sang in the lone garden there:<br>But where you were the birds were scared I trow:<br>Clanging of arms about pavilions fair,<br>Mixed with the knights' laughs; there, as I well know,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Rode Launcelot, the king of all the band,<br>And scowling Gauwaine, like the night in day,<br>And handsome Gareth, with his great white hand<br>Curl'd round the helm-crest, ere he join'd the fray;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"And merry Dinadan with sharp dark face,<br>All true knights loved to see; and in the fight<br>Great Tristram, and though helmed you could trace<br>In all his bearing the frank noble knight;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"And by him Palomydes, helmet off,<br>He fought, his face brush'd by his hair,<br>Red heavy swinging hair; he fear'd a scoff<br>So overmuch, though what true knight would dare</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"To mock that face, fretted with useless care,<br>And bitter useless striving after love?<br>O Palomydes, with much honour bear<br>Beast Glatysaunt upon your shield, above</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Your helm that hides the swinging of your hair,<br>And think of Iseult, as your sword drives through<br>Much mail and plate: O God, let me be there<br>A little time, as I was long ago!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Because stout Gareth lets his spear fall low,<br>Gauwaine and Launcelot, and Dinadan<br>Are helm'd and waiting; let the trumpets go!<br>Bend over, ladies, to see all you can!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Clench teeth, dames, yea, clasp hands, for Gareth's spear<br>Throws Kay from out his saddle, like a stone<br>From a castle-window when the foe draws near:<br>'Iseult!' Sir Dinadan rolleth overthrown.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"'Iseult!' again: the pieces of each spear<br>Fly fathoms up, and both the great steeds reel;<br>'Tristram for Iseult!' 'Iseult!' and 'Guenevere!'<br>The ladies' names bite verily like steel.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"They bite: bite me, Lord God! I shall go mad,<br>Or else die kissing him, he is so pale,<br>He thinks me mad already, O bad! bad!<br>Let me lie down a little while and wail."</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"No longer so, rise up, I pray you, love,<br>And slay me really, then we shall be heal'd,<br>Perchance, in the aftertime by God above."<br>"Banner of Arthur, with black-bended shield</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Sinister-wise across the fair gold ground!<br>Here let me tell you what a knight you are,<br>O sword and shield of Arthur! you are found<br>A crooked sword, I think, that leaves a scar</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"On the bearer's arm, so be he thinks it straight,<br>Twisted Malay's crease beautiful blue-grey,<br>Poison'd with sweet fruit; as he found too late,<br>My husband Arthur, on some bitter day!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"O sickle cutting hemlock the day long!<br>That the husbandman across his shoulder hangs, <br>And, going homeward about evensong,<br>Dies the next morning, struck through by the fangs!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Banner, and sword, and shield, you dare not die,<br>Lest you meet Arthur in the other world,<br>And, knowing who you are, he pass you by,<br>Taking short turns that he may watch you curl'd,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Body and face and limbs in agony,<br>Lest he weep presently and go away,<br>Saying: 'I loved him once,' with a sad sigh,<br>Now I have slain him, Lord, let me go too, I pray.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">[Launcelot falls.]</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Alas! alas! I know not what to do,<br>If I run fast it is perchance that I<br>May fall and stun myself, much better so,<br>Never, never again! not even when I die."</div><div style="margin:10px 0">[LAUNCELOT, on awaking.]</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"I stretch'd my hands towards her and fell down,<br>How long I lay in swoon I cannot tell:<br>My head and hands were bleeding from the stone,<br>When I rose up, also I heard a bell."</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Morris">William Morris</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=538822" data-title="King Arthur's Tomb de William Morris" data-description="Hot August noon: already on that day Since sunrise through the Wiltshire downs, most sad Of mouth and eye, he had gone leagues of way; Ay and by night, till whether good or bad He was, he knew not, though he knew perchance That he was Launcelot, ..."></div> </div> </div>
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