For Arthur on the Whitsuntide before Held court at old Caerleon upon Usk. There on a day, he sitting high in hall, Before him came a forester of Dean, Wet from the woods, with notice of a hart Taller than all his fellows, milky-white, First seen that day: these things he told the King. Then the good King gave order to let blow His horns for hunting on the morrow morn. And when the King petitioned for his leave To see the hunt, allowed it easily. So with the morning all the court were gone. But Guinevere lay late into the morn, Lost in sweet dreams, and dreaming of her love For Lancelot, and forgetful of the hunt; But rose at last, a single maiden with her, Took horse, and forded Usk, and gained the wood; There, on a little knoll beside it, stayed Waiting to hear the hounds; but heard instead A sudden sound of hoofs, for Prince Geraint, Late also, wearing neither hunting-dress Nor weapon, save a golden-hilted brand, Came quickly flashing through the shallow ford Behind them, and so galloped up the knoll. A purple scarf, at either end whereof There swung an apple of the purest gold, Swayed round about him, as he galloped up To join them, glancing like a dragon-fly In summer suit and silks of holiday. Low bowed the tributary Prince, and she, Sweet and statelily, and with all grace Of womanhood and queenhood, answered him: “Late, late, Sir Prince,” she said, “later than we!” “Yea, noble Queen,” he answered, “and so late That I but come like you to see the hunt, Not join it.” “Therefore wait with me,” she said; “For on this little knoll, if anywhere, There is good chance that we shall hear the hounds: Here often they break covert at our feet.”