"Back, with the hair like sea-weed; yea all past Sweat of the forehead, dryness of the lips, Washed utterly out by the dear waves o'ercast, "In the lone sea, far off from any ships! Do I not know now of a day in Spring? No minute of that wild day ever slips "From out my memory; I hear thrushes sing, And wheresoever I may be, straightway Thoughts of it all come up with most fresh sting: "I was half mad with beauty on that day, And went without my ladies all alone, In a quiet garden walled round every way; "I was right joyful of that wall of stone, That shut the flowers and trees up with the sky, And trebled all the beauty: to the bone, "Yea right through to my heart, grown very shy With weary 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. "Being such a lady could I weep these tears If this were true? A great queen such as I Having sinn'd this way, straight her conscience sears; "And afterwards she liveth hatefully, Slaying and poisoning, certes never weeps,-- Gauwaine be friends now, speak me lovingly. "Do I not see how God's dear pity creeps All through your frame, and trembles in your mouth? Remember in what grave your mother sleeps, "Buried in some place far down in the south, Men are forgetting as I speak to you; By her head sever'd in that awful drouth "Of pity that drew Agravaine's fell blow, I pray your pity! let me not scream out For ever after, when the shrill winds blow "Through half your castle-locks! let me not shout For ever after in the winter night When you ride out alone! in battle-rout