The Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems. William Morris

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СКАЧАТЬ Do I not know now of a day in Spring?

       No minute of that wild day ever slips

      From out my memory; I hear thrushes sing,

       And wheresoever I may be, straightway

       Thoughts of it all come up with most fresh sting:

      I was half mad with beauty on that day,

       And went without my ladies all alone,

       In a quiet garden walled round every way;

      I was right joyful of that wall of stone,

       That shut the flowers and trees up with the sky,

       And trebled all the beauty: to the bone,

      Yea right through to my heart, grown very shy

       With weary thoughts, it pierced, and made me glad;

       Exceedingly glad, and I knew verily,

      A little thing just then had made me mad;

       I dared not think, as I was wont to do,

       Sometimes, upon my beauty; If I had

      Held out my long hand up against the blue,

       And, looking on the tenderly darken'd fingers,

       Thought that by rights one ought to see quite through,

      There, see you, where the soft still light yet lingers,

       Round by the edges; what should I have done,

       If this had joined with yellow spotted singers,

      And startling green drawn upward by the sun?

       But shouting, loosed out, see now! all my hair,

       And trancedly stood watching the west wind run

      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!

      Setter of traps, I pray you guard your head,

       By God I am so glad to fight with you,

       Stripper of ladies, that my hand feels lead

      For driving weight; hurrah now! draw and do,

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