The Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems. William Morris

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СКАЧАТЬ The blessed rood, and with her dry lips said,

       Muttering the words against the marble floor:

      'Unless you pardon, what shall I do, Lord,

       But go to hell? and there see day by day

       Foul deed on deed, hear foulest word on word,

       For ever and ever, such as on the way

      To Camelot I heard once from a churl,

       That curled me up upon my jennet's neck

       With bitter shame; how then, Lord, should I curl

       For ages and for ages? dost thou reck

      That I am beautiful, Lord, even as you

       And your dear mother? why did I forget

       You were so beautiful, and good, and true,

       That you loved me so, Guenevere? O yet

      If even I go to hell, I cannot choose

       But love you, Christ, yea, though I cannot keep

       From loving Launcelot; O Christ! must I lose

       My own heart's love? see, though I cannot weep,

      Yet am I very sorry for my sin;

       Moreover, Christ, I cannot bear that hell,

       I am most fain to love you, and to win

       A place in heaven some time: I cannot tell:

      Speak to me, Christ! I kiss, kiss, kiss your feet;

       Ah! now I weep!' The maid said, 'By the tomb

       He waiteth for you, lady,' coming fleet,

       Not knowing what woe filled up all the room.

      So Guenevere rose and went to meet him there,

       He did not hear her coming, as he lay

       On Arthur's head, till some of her long hair

       Brush'd on the new-cut stone: 'Well done! to pray

      For Arthur, my dear Lord, the greatest king

       That ever lived.' 'Guenevere! Guenevere!

       Do you not know me, are you gone mad? fling

       Your arms and hair about me, lest I fear

      You are not Guenevere, but some other thing.'

       'Pray you forgive me, fair lord Launcelot!

       I am not mad, but I am sick; they cling,

       God's curses, unto such as I am; not

      Ever again shall we twine arms and lips.'

       'Yea, she is mad: thy heavy law, O Lord,

       Is very tight about her now, and grips

       Her poor heart, so that no right word

      Can reach her mouth; so, Lord, forgive her now,

       That she not knowing what she does, being mad,

       Kills me in this way; Guenevere, bend low

       And kiss me once! for God's love kiss me! sad

      Though your face is, you look much kinder now;

       Yea once, once for the last time kiss me, lest I die.'

       'Christ! my hot lips are very near his brow,

       Help me to save his soul! Yea, verily,

      Across my husband's head, fair Launcelot!

       Fair serpent mark'd with V upon the head!

       This thing we did while yet he was alive,

       Why not, O twisting knight, now he is dead?

      Yea, shake! shake now and shiver! if you can

       Remember anything for agony,

       Pray you remember how when the wind ran

       One cool spring evening through fair aspen-tree,

      And elm and oak about the palace there,

       The king came back from battle, and I stood

       To meet him, with my ladies, on the stair,

       My face made beautiful with my young blood.'

      'Will she lie now, Lord God?' 'Remember too,

       Wrung heart, how first before the knights there came

       A royal bier, hung round with green and blue,

       About it shone great tapers with sick flame.

      And thereupon Lucius, the Emperor,

       Lay royal-robed, but stone-cold now and dead,

       Not able to hold sword or sceptre more,

       But not quite grim; because his cloven head

      Bore no marks now of Launcelot's bitter sword,

       Being by embalmers deftly solder'd up;

       So still it seem'd the face of a great lord,

       Being mended as a craftsman mends a cup.

      Also the heralds sung rejoicingly

       To their long trumpets; Fallen under shield,

       Here lieth Lucius, King of Italy,

       Slain by Lord Launcelot in open field.

      Thereat the people shouted: Launcelot!

       And through the spears I saw you drawing nigh,

       You and Lord Arthur: nay, I saw you not,

       But rather Arthur, God would not let die,

      I hoped, these many years; he should grow great,

       And in his great arms still encircle me,

       Kissing my face, half blinded with the heat

       Of king's love for the queen I used to be.

      Launcelot, Launcelot, why did he take your hand,

       When he had kissed me in his kingly way?

       Saying: This is the knight whom all the land

       Calls Arthur's banner, sword, and shield to-day;

      Cherish СКАЧАТЬ