With faintest half-heard breathing sound; why there I lose my head e'en now in doing this; But shortly listen: In that garden fair Came Launcelot walking; this is true, the kiss Wherewith we kissed in meeting that spring day, I scarce dare talk of the remember'd bliss, When both our mouths went wandering in one way, And aching sorely, met among the leaves; Our hands being left behind strained far away. Never within a yard of my bright sleeves Had Launcelot come before: and now, so nigh! After that day why is it Guenevere grieves? Nevertheless you, O Sir Gauwaine, lie, Whatever happened on through all those years, God knows I speak truth, saying that you lie. Being such a lady could I weep these tears If this were true? A great queen such as I Having sinn'd this way, straight her conscience sears; And afterwards she liveth hatefully, Slaying and poisoning, certes never weeps: Gauwaine be friends now, speak me lovingly. Do I not see how God's dear pity creeps All through your frame, and trembles in your mouth? Remember in what grave your mother sleeps, Buried in some place far down in the south, Men are forgetting as I speak to you; By her head sever'd in that awful drouth Of pity that drew Agravaine's fell blow, I pray your pity! let me not scream out For ever after, when the shrill winds blow Through half your castle-locks! let me not shout For ever after in the winter night When you ride out alone! in battle-rout Let not my rusting tears make your sword light! Ah! God of mercy, how he turns away! So, ever must I dress me to the fight, So: let God's justice work! Gauwaine, I say, See me hew down your proofs: yea all men know Even as you said how Mellyagraunce one day, One bitter day in _la Fausse Garde_, for so All good knights held it after, saw: Yea, sirs, by cursed unknightly outrage; though You, Gauwaine, held his word without a flaw, This Mellyagraunce saw blood upon my bed: Whose blood then pray you? is there any law To make a queen say why some spots of red Lie on her coverlet? or will you say: Your hands are white, lady, as when you wed, Where did you bleed? and must I stammer out, Nay, I blush indeed, fair lord, only to rend My sleeve up to my shoulder, where there lay A knife-point last night: so must I defend The honour of the Lady Guenevere? Not so, fair lords, even if the world should end This very day, and you were judges here Instead of God. Did you see Mellyagraunce When Launcelot stood by him? what white fear Curdled his blood, and how his teeth did dance, His side sink in? as my knight cried and said: Slayer of unarm'd men, here is a chance!