Thomas Humphry Ward, ed. The English Poets. 1880–1918.rnVol. V. Browning to Rupert Brooke
William Morris (18341896)Extracts from The Defence of Guenevere: Launcelot and Guenevere (from King Arthurs Tomb)
“R
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.
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
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.
To their long trumpets, ‘Fallen under shield,
Here lieth Lucius, King of Italy,
Slain by Lord Launcelot in open field.’
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,
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.
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;
In such strange way unto my fingers then?
So eagerly glad to kiss, so loath to leave
When you rose up? Why among helmed men
And sway like an angel’s in your saddle there?
Why sicken’d I so often with alarms
Over the tilt-yard? Why were you more fair
Why did you fill all lands with your great fame,
So that Breuse even, as he rode, fear’d lest
At turning of the way your shield should flame?”