There, with crooked arm upon the sill, She look'd out, muttering dismally: There is no sail upon the sea, No pennon on the empty hill. I cannot stay here all alone, Or meet their happy faces here, And wretchedly I have no fear; A little while, and I am gone. Therewith she rose upon her feet, And totter'd; cold and misery Still made the deep sobs come, till she At last stretch'd out her fingers sweet, And caught the great sword in her hand; And, stealing down the silent stair, Barefooted in the morning air. And only in her smock, did stand Upright upon the green lawn grass; And hope grew in her as she said: I have thrown off the white and red, And pray God it may come to pass I meet him; if ten years go by Before I meet him; if, indeed, Meanwhile both soul and body bleed, Yet there is end of misery, And I have hope. He could not come, But I can go to him and show These new things I have got to know, And make him speak, who has been dumb. O Jehane! the red morning sun Changed her white feet to glowing gold, Upon her smock, on crease and fold, Changed that to gold which had been dun. O Miles, and Giles, and Isabeau, Fair Ellayne le Violet, Mary, Constance fille de fay! Where is Jehane du Castel beau? O big Gervaise ride apace! Down to the hard yellow sand, Where the water meets the land. This is Jehane by her face. Why has she a broken sword? Mary! she is slain outright; Verily a piteous sight; Take her up without a word! Giles and Miles and Gervaise there, Ladies' Gard must meet the war; Whatsoever knights these are, Man the walls withouten fear! Axes to the apple-trees, Axes to the aspens tall! Barriers without the wall May be lightly made of these. O poor shivering Isabeau; Poor Ellayne le Violet, Bent with fear! we miss to-day Brave Jehane du Castel beau. O poor Mary, weeping so! Wretched Constance fille de fay! Verily we miss to-day Fair Jehane du Castel beau. The apples now grow green and sour Upon the mouldering castle-wall, Before they ripen there they fall: There are no banners on the tower, The draggled swans most eagerly eat The green weeds trailing in the moat; Inside the rotting leaky boat You see a slain man's stiffen'd feet. THE HAYSTACK IN THE FLOODS Had she come all the way for this, To part at last without a kiss? Yea, had she borne the dirt and rain That her own eyes might see him slain Beside the haystack in the floods?