"My friend, we bear each other no ill will. When first I swung my axe, you showed some fear; I owed you that much for your blow last year. The second time I swung,--yet spared your life,-- That paid you for the kiss you gave my wife!" "Your wife!" "My wife, Sir Gawayne; 't was my word; And when I swung my weapon for the third And last time, then I made the red blood spirt For that green girdle underneath your shirt! You played me false, my friend!" And Gawayne knelt Once more, and casting off the magic belt, In bitter broken words confessed his shame, And begged the Green Knight to avenge the name Of injured knighthood, and with one last blow To end his guilty life. "Nay, nay, not so," The other softly said. "Be of good cheer; Your fault was small, for all men hold life dear. We tempted you, my friend, with all our might, And proved you in good sooth a noble knight; A veritable Joseph, sir, you are!" Quoth Gawayne drily, "Thanks, Lord Potiphar! But may I ask you why you played this part?" The other said: "Ask Lady Elfinhart!" He smiled, and from his smile a genial glow Of green mid-summer seemed to overflow, Filling with verdure all that barren place. The warm red blood rushed to Sir Gawayne's face; He caught his breath, and in his eager eyes There shone a sudden flash of dark surmise, And then he stood a long while pondering; But in his breast his heart began to sing The old, old music whose still echoes roll Forever voiceless through the listening soul. He said farewell to his good fairy friend As in a dream, where real and unreal blend In phantom unison, and with the light Of love to lead him home, rode through the night, Beside the tranquil murmurs of the Mere, And through the silence of the passing year; And earth and sea and starlit sky took part In the still exaltation of his heart, While all but love and wonder was forgot, Until he came to high-towered Camelot. To Camelot he came, and there he found The good King Arthur and his Table Round Awaiting his return in anxious doubt; But ere he passed the gates a mighty shout Rose from the watchmen on the outward wall And bore the tidings to the inmost hall. From every window flaunting flags were flung; From the high battlements brass trumpets sung; And great bells, chiming in the topmost tower, Pealed salutation to the joyous hour, As Gawayne, riding through the cullis-port, Faced the glad throng that filled the palace court.