Then she, that felt the cold touch on her throat, Awaking knew the sword, and turned herself To Gawain: “Liar, for thou hast not slain This Pelleas! here he stood, and might have slain Me and thyself.” And he that tells the tale Says that her ever-veering fancy turned To Pelleas, as the one true knight on earth, And only lover; and through her love her life Wasted and pined, desiring him in vain. But he by wild and way, for half the night, And over hard and soft, striking the sod From out the soft, the spark from off the hard, Rode till the star above the wakening sun, Beside that tower where Percivale was cowled, Glanced from the rosy forehead of the dawn. For so the words were flashed into his heart He knew not whence or wherefore: “O sweet star, Pure on the virgin forehead of the dawn!” And there he would have wept, but felt his eyes Harder and drier than a fountain bed In summer: thither came the village girls And lingered talking, and they come no more Till the sweet heavens have filled it from the heights Again with living waters in the change Of seasons: hard his eyes; harder his heart Seemed; but so weary were his limbs, that he, Gasping, “Of Arthur’s hall am I, but here, Here let me rest and die,” cast himself down, And gulfed his griefs in inmost sleep; so lay, Till shaken by a dream, that Gawain fired The hall of Merlin, and the morning star Reeled in the smoke, brake into flame, and fell. He woke, and being ware of some one nigh, Sent hands upon him, as to tear him, crying, “False! and I held thee pure as Guinevere.” But Percivale stood near him and replied, “Am I but false as Guinevere is pure? Or art thou mazed with dreams? or being one Of our free-spoken Table hast not heard That Lancelot”—there he checked himself and paused. Then fared it with Sir Pelleas as with one Who gets a wound in battle, and the sword That made it plunges through the wound again, And pricks it deeper: and he shrank and wailed, “Is the Queen false?” and Percivale was mute. “Have any of our Round Table held their vows?” And Percivale made answer not a word. “Is the King true?” “The King!” said Percivale. “Why then let men couple at once with wolves. What! art thou mad?”