But when the third day from the hunting-morn Made a low splendor in the world, and wings Moved in her ivy, Enid, for she lay With her fair head in the dim-yellow light, Among the dancing shadows of the birds, Woke and bethought her of her promise given No later than last eve to Prince Geraint-- So bent he seem'd on going the third day, He would not leave her, till her promise given-- To ride with him this morning to the court, And there be made known to the stately Queen, And there be wedded with all ceremony. At this she cast her eyes upon her dress, And thought it never yet had look'd so mean. For as a leaf in mid-November is To what it was in mid-October, seem'd The dress that now she look'd on to the dress She look'd on ere the coming of Geraint. And still she look'd, and still the terror grew Of that strange, bright and dreadful thing, a court, All staring at her in her faded silk: And softly to her own sweet heart she said: "This noble prince who won our earldom back, So splendid in his acts and his attire, Sweet heaven, how much I shall discredit him! Would he could tarry with us here awhile, But being so beholden to the Prince, It were but little grace in any of us, Bent as he seem'd on going this third day, To seek a second favor at his hands. Yet if he could but tarry a day or two, Myself would work eye dim, and finger lame, Far liefer than so much discredit him." And Enid fell in longing for a dress All branch'd and flower'd with gold, a costly gift Of her good mother, given her on the night Before her birthday, three sad years ago. That night of fire, when Edyrn sack'd their house, And scatter'd all they had to all the winds: For while the mother show'd it, and the two Were turning and admiring it, the work To both appear'd so costly, rose a cry That Edyrn's men were on them, and they fled With little save the jewels they had on, Which being sold and sold had bought them bread: And Edyrn's men had caught them in their flight, And placed them in this ruin; and she wish'd The Prince had found her in her ancient home; Then let her fancy flit across the past, And roam the goodly places that she knew; And last bethought her how she used to watch, Near that old home, a pool of golden carp; And one was patch'd and blurr'd and lustreless Among his burnish'd brethren of the pool; And half asleep she made comparison Of that and these to her own faded self And the gay court, and fell asleep again; And dreamt herself was such a faded form Among her burnish'd sisters of the pool; But this was in the garden of a king; And tho' she lay dark in the pool, she knew That all was bright; that all about were birds Of sunny plume in gilded trellis-work; That all the turf was rich in plots that look'd Each like a garnet or a turkis in it; And lords and ladies of the high court went