Then to the shore of one of those long loops Wherethrough the serpent river coiled, they came. Rough-thicketed were the banks and steep; the stream Full, narrow; this a bridge of single arc Took at a leap; and on the further side Arose a silk pavilion, gay with gold In streaks and rays, and all Lent-lily in hue, Save that the dome was purple, and above, Crimson, a slender banneret fluttering. And therebefore the lawless warrior paced Unarmed, and calling, “Damsel, is this he, The champion thou hast brought from Arthur’s hall? For whom we let thee pass.” “Nay, nay,” she said, “Sir Morning-Star. The King in utter scorn Of thee and thy much folly hath sent thee here His kitchen-knave: and look thou to thyself: See that he fall not on thee suddenly, And slay thee unarmed: he is not knight but knave.” Then at his call, “O daughters of the Dawn, And servants of the Morning-Star, approach, Arm me,” from out the silken curtain-folds Bare-footed and bare-headed three fair girls In gilt and rosy raiment came: their feet In dewy grasses glistened; and the hair All over glanced with dewdrop or with gem Like sparkles in the stone Avanturine. These armed him in blue arms, and gave a shield Blue also, and thereon the morning star. And Gareth silent gazed upon the knight, Who stood a moment, ere his horse was brought, Glorying; and in the stream beneath him, shone Immingled with Heaven’s azure waveringly, The gay pavilion and the naked feet, His arms, the rosy raiment, and the star. Then she that watched him, “Wherefore stare ye so? Thou shakest in thy fear: there yet is time: Flee down the valley before he get to horse. Who will cry shame? Thou art not knight but knave.” Said Gareth, “Damsel, whether knave or knight, Far liefer had I fight a score of times Than hear thee so missay me and revile. Fair words were best for him who fights for thee; But truly foul are better, for they send That strength of anger through mine arms, I know That I shall overthrow him.” And he that bore The star, when mounted, cried from o’er the bridge, “A kitchen-knave, and sent in scorn of me! Such fight not I, but answer scorn with scorn. For this were shame to do him further wrong Than set him on his feet, and take his horse And arms, and so return him to the King. Come, therefore, leave thy lady lightly, knave. Avoid: for it beseemeth not a knave To ride with such a lady.”