That is God’s business. He has made us flesh. When we are spirits, and in the world of spirits, It may be then that we shall ache no more, Nor hunger for a voice, a touch, a kiss; But while this wine of earth is in my veins, I hunger. Had I sought for happiness, Should I have chosen love? But it was Love Chose me, and all my soul is dyed in yours, I cannot be a separate self---- LAUNCELOT Nor I. Guenevere, when this body is in the grave, My very dust will turn and yearn to you. As the seed springs and shoots up through the earth, So shall I come to you. GUENEVERE But now, but now, Have you no joy of me? LAUNCELOT (_as if no word were stranger_) Joy? GUENEVERE Do you keep Your passion for the dust and for the grave? Oh, you grow weary, say the truth at last, For a young hand has touched you. LAUNCELOT Guenevere! GUENEVERE Why did you leave me? LAUNCELOT I was afraid. GUENEVERE The truth. LAUNCELOT I thought to pluck you from my heart: and if Sharp stone or cutting steel could do it, I’d Have spared no agony. But stone nor steel Can root what’s part of every breath I breathe. Though I should stamp on it, it flowers again And looks like innocence. I fled from love That was too strong for me. GUENEVERE And fled to her. I see you changed, and she has wrought the change. Insulter, mocking me with sick pretence And virtuous aversions. Love! You love! The burning name is ashes in your mouth. You are weary, you are weary, you are weary! You’ll none of me, and I’ll have none of you, I’ll choose another for my sword and shield Not you--that are but words. [_She rushes out in great anger._ LAUNCELOT Didst thou make woman, God, As thou hast made fire, earthquake, and sea-storm, To raise a beauty of terror and overthrow Great realms and reason’s self? Comes she again, The flame is on the wind and I am straw. I’m in the net. Oh for an enemy To hurl at! Dogs, would they betray their King, Shatter that dearest jewel of his life, This realm; make me their poisoned instrument, And in the crash drag down into the dirt, O infamy!--my Queen? Get to your work, Mordred; prime your crew; Hatch your plot! Still I have my word to say. If no way else avails I’ll take me hence To my own country, and you shall stretch your hands To grasp at nothing. Well, Whatever comes, I have a sword that’s clean. THIRD SCENE _Astolat. A room with a low seat by a window at the back, as in Scene I._ SIR BERNARD _and_ TORRE _stand watching_ ELAINE, _who sleeps by the window. They talk in low tones._