The Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems. William Morris

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СКАЧАТЬ For all my wounds are moving in my breast,

       And I am getting mad with waiting so.

      He struck his hands together o'er the beast,

       Who fell down flat, and grovell'd at his feet,

       And groan'd at being slain so young: At least,

      My knight said, rise you, sir, who are so fleet

       At catching ladies, half-arm'd will I fight,

       My left side all uncovered! then I weet,

      Up sprang Sir Mellyagraunce with great delight

       Upon his knave's face; not until just then

       Did I quite hate him, as I saw my knight

      Along the lists look to my stake and pen

       With such a joyous smile, it made me sigh

       From agony beneath my waist-chain, when

      The fight began, and to me they drew nigh;

       Ever Sir Launcelot kept him on the right,

       And traversed warily, and ever high

      And fast leapt caitiff's sword, until my knight

       Sudden threw up his sword to his left hand,

       Caught it, and swung it; that was all the fight,

      Except a spout of blood on the hot land;

       For it was hottest summer; and I know

       I wonder'd how the fire, while I should stand,

      And burn, against the heat, would quiver so,

       Yards above my head; thus these matters went;

       Which things were only warnings of the woe

      That fell on me. Yet Mellyagraunce was shent,

       For Mellyagraunce had fought against the Lord;

       Therefore, my lords, take heed lest you be blent

      With all this wickedness; say no rash word

       Against me, being so beautiful; my eyes,

       Wept all away to grey, may bring some sword

      To drown you in your blood; see my breast rise,

       Like waves of purple sea, as here I stand;

       And how my arms are moved in wonderful wise,

      Yea also at my full heart's strong command,

       See through my long throat how the words go up

       In ripples to my mouth; how in my hand

      The shadow lies like wine within a cup

       Of marvellously colour'd gold; yea now

       This little wind is rising, look you up,

      And wonder how the light is falling so

       Within my moving tresses: will you dare,

       When you have looked a little on my brow,

      To say this thing is vile? or will you care

       For any plausible lies of cunning woof,

       When you can see my face with no lie there

      For ever? am I not a gracious proof:

       But in your chamber Launcelot was found:

       Is there a good knight then would stand aloof,

      When a queen says with gentle queenly sound:

       O true as steel come now and talk with me,

       I love to see your step upon the ground

      Unwavering, also well I love to see

       That gracious smile light up your face, and hear

       Your wonderful words, that all mean verily

      The thing they seem to mean: good friend, so dear

       To me in everything, come here to-night,

       Or else the hours will pass most dull and drear;

      If you come not, I fear this time I might

       Get thinking over much of times gone by,

       When I was young, and green hope was in sight:

      For no man cares now to know why I sigh;

       And no man comes to sing me pleasant songs,

       Nor any brings me the sweet flowers that lie

      So thick in the gardens; therefore one so longs

       To see you, Launcelot; that we may be

       Like children once again, free from all wrongs

      Just for one night. Did he not come to me?

       What thing could keep true Launcelot away

       If I said, Come? there was one less than three

      In my quiet room that night, and we were gay;

       Till sudden I rose up, weak, pale, and sick,

       Because a bawling broke our dream up, yea

      I looked at Launcelot's face and could not speak,

       For he looked helpless too, for a little while;

       Then I remember how I tried to shriek,

      And could not, but fell down; from tile to tile

       The stones they threw up rattled o'er my head

       And made me dizzier; till within a while

      My maids were all about me, and my head

       On Launcelot's breast was being soothed away

       From its white chattering, until Launcelot said:

      By God! I will not tell you more to-day,

       Judge any way you will: what matters it?

       You know quite well the story of that fray,

      How Launcelot still'd their bawling, the mad fit

       That caught up Gauwaine: all, all, verily,

       But just that which would save me; these things flit.

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