Chapter 3

VOICE OF THE EVENING WIND: The sun is gone,and the last, red flameHas faded away in a shimmer of rose--A shimmer of rose that shivers to grey.The kings are glad of the dying day--The kings are weary; the white mists close,The white mists gather to cover their shame.THE SONGS OF QUEEN AVERLAINE.To M. B.PERSONS: THE KING,QUEEN AVERLAINE,THE KNIGHT ARKELD.I.KING AND QUEEN.1.The day has come; at last my dream unfoldsWhite, wondering petals with the rising sun.No other glade in Love's world-garden holdsSo fair a bloom from vanquished winter won.Long, oh, so long I watched through budding hours,And, trembling, feared my dream would never wake;As, one by one, I saw star-tranced flowersOut on the night their dewy splendour shake.But with the earliest gleam of dawn it stirred,Knowing that Love had put the dark to flight;And I must sing more glad than any birdBecause the sun has filled my dream with light.2.Is it high noon, already, in the land?O Love, I dreamed that morn could never pass;That we might ever wander, hand in hand,As children in June-meadows plucking flowers,Through ever-waking, fresh-unfolding hours:Yet now we sink love-wearied in the grass;Yea, it is noon, high noon in all the land.The young wind slumbers; all the little birdsThat sang about us in the fields of mornAre songless now; no happy flight of wordsOn Love's lip hovers--Love has waxed to noon.Ah, God, if Love should wane to evening soonTo perish in a sunless world, forlorn,And cease with the last song of weary birds!3.At dawn I gathered flowers of white,To garland them for your delight.At noon I gathered flowers of blue,To weave them into joy for you.At eve I gather purple flowers,To strew above the withered hours.4.She knelt at eve beside the stream,And, sighing, sang: "O waters clear,Forsaken now of joy and fear,I come to drown a withered dream."Unseen of day, I let it fallWithin the shadow of my hair.O little dream, that bloomed so fair,The waters hide you after all!"5."Is it not dawn?" she cried, and raised her head,"Or hath the sun, grey-shrouded, yesternight,Gone down with Love for ever to the dead?When Love has perished, can there yet be light?""Yea, it is dawn," one answered: "see the dewQuivers agleam, and all the east is white;While in the willow song begins anew.""When Love has perished, can there yet be light?"II.AVERLAINE AND ARKELD.1.ARKELD: Oh, why did you lift your eyes to mine?Oh, why did you lift your drooping head?AVERLAINE: The tangled threads of the fates entwineOur hearts that follow as children led.ARKELD: From the utmost ends of the earth we came,As star moves starward through wildering night.AVERLAINE: Our souls have mingled as flame with flame,Yea, they have mingled as light with light.ARKELD: Ah God, ah God, that it never had been!AVERLAINE: The Shadow, the Shadow that falls between!ARKELD: The stars in their courses move through the skyUnswerving, unheeding, cold and blind.AVERLAINE: Why did you linger nor pass me byWhere the cross-roads meet in the ways that wind?ARKELD: I saw your eyes from the dusk of your hairFlame out with sorrow and yearning love.AVERLAINE: And I, who wandered with grey despair,Looking up, saw heaven in blossom above.ARKELD: Ah God, ah God, that it never had been!AVERLAINE: The Shadow, the Shadow that falls between!ARKELD: May we not go as we came, alone,Unto the ends of the earth anew?AVERLAINE: May we draw afresh from the rose new-blownThe golden sunlight, the crystal dew?ARKELD: Yea, love between us has bloomed as a roseOut of the desert under our feet.AVERLAINE: May we forget how the red heart glows,Forget that the dew on the petals is sweet?ARKELD: Ah God, ah God, that it never had been!AVERLAINE: The Shadow, the Shadow that falls between!ARKELD: Have the ages brought us together that weMight tremble, start at shadows, and cry?AVERLAINE: Yea, it has been, and ever will beTill Sorrow be slain or Love's self die.ARKELD: Stronger than Sorrow is Love; and Hate,The brother of Love, shall end our Sorrow.AVERLAINE: The Shadow is strong with the strength of Fate,And, slain, would rise from the grave to-morrow.ARKELD: Ah God, ah God, that it never had been!AVERLAINE: The Shadow, the Shadow for ever between!2.AVERLAINE: Yea, we must part, and tear with ruthless handsThe golden web wherein, too late, Love stroveTo weave us joy and bind us heart to heart.ARKELD: Yea, we must part, and strew on desert-sandsPetal by petal all the rose of Love,And part for ever where the cross-ways part.AVERLAINE: Yea, we must part, and never turn our eyesFrom strange horizons, desolate and far,Though Love cry ever: "Turn but once, sad heart!"ARKELD: Yea, we must part, and under alien skiesMust follow after some cold, gleaming star,And roam, as north and south winds roam, apart.AVERLAINE: Yea, we must part, ere Love be grown too strongAnd we too helpless to resist his might;While each may go with pure, unshamed heart.ARKELD: Yea, we must part; and though we do Love wrong,He will the more subdue us in our flight,And hold us each more surely his, apart.III. QUEEN AVERLAINE.1.O love, I bade you go; and you have borneThe summer with you from the valley-lands;The poppy-flame has perished from the corn;And in the chill, wan light of early mornThe reapers come in doleful, starveling bands,To bind the blackened sheaves with listless hands;For rain has put their sowing-toil to scorn.O Love, I bade you go; and autumn bringsBleak desolation; yet within my heartUnquenched and fierce the flame you kindled springs;For, echoing all day long, the courtyard ringsAs loud it rang when, rending Love apart,Your white horse cantered--swift and keen to start--Into a world of other queens and kings.2.I bade you go; ah, wherefore are you gone?How could you leave me dark and desolate,O Sun of Love, that for brief summer shone?Mine eyes are ever on the western gate,Half-wishing, half-foredreading your return.Return, O Love, return!I cannot live without you; through the darkI stretch blind hands to you across the world;All day on unknown battle-fields I markYour sword's red course, your banner blue unfurled;Yet never, in my day-dreams, you return.Return, O Love, return!Nay, you are gone: O Love, I bade you go.I would not have you come again to beA stranger in this house of silent woe,Where, being all, you would be naught to me.Mine, mine in dreams, but lost if you return;Oh, nevermore return!3."To-day a wandering harper cameWith outland tales of deeds of fame;I hearkened from the noonday brightUntil the failing of the light,The while he sang of joust and fight;Yet never once I caught your name.Oh, whither, whither are you gone,Whose name victorious ever shoneAbove all knights of other lands?Across what wilderness of sands?By what dead sea-deserted strands?On what far quest of Love forlorn?I loved you when men called you LordArkeld, the never-sleeping sword;Yet now, when all your might is furled,And you no longer crest the world,More are you mine than when you hurledDestruction on the embattled horde.4.Oh, deeper in the silent houseThe silence falls;Only the stir of bat or mouseAbout the walls.No cry, no voice in any room,No gust of breath;As if, within the clutch of doom,We waited death.5.The King is dead;No longer nowThe cold eyes gleamBeneath his brow.O cold, grey eyes,Wherein the lightOf Love at dawnSeemed clear and bright,No true Love burnedYour cold desire,Which mirrored butMy own heart's fire.6.The King died yesterday.... Ah, no, he diedWhen young Love perished long, so long ago;And on his throne, as marble at my side,Has reigned a carven image, cold as snow,Though all men bowed before it, crying: "King!"Too late, too late the chains which held me fall;Rock-bound, I bade the victor-knight go by;And now, when time has loosed me from the thrall,I know not where he tarries, 'neath what skyHe waits the winter's end, the dawn of spring.7.Spring comes no more for me: though young March blowTo flame the larches, and from tree to treeThe green fire leap, till all the woodlands glow--Though every runnel, filled to overflow,Bear sea-ward, loud and brown with melted snow,Spring comes no more for me!Spring comes no more for me: though April lightThe flame of gorse above the peacock sea;Though in an interweaving mesh of whiteThe seagulls hover 'neath the cliff's sheer height;Though, hour by hour, new joys are winged for flight,Spring comes no more for me!Spring comes no more for me: though May will shakeWhite flame of hawthorn over all the lea,Till every thick-set hedge and tangled brakePuts on fresh flower of beauty for her sake;Though all the world from winter-sleep awake,Spring comes no more for me!8.I wandered through the city till I cameWithin the vast cathedral, cool and dim;I looked upon the windows all aflameWith blazoned knights and saints and seraphim.I looked on kings in purple, gold and blue,On martyrs high before whom all men bow;Until a gleam of light my footsteps drewBefore a shining seraph, on whose browA little flame, for ever pure and white,Unwavering burns--the symbol of our love;And as I knelt before him in the night,He looked, compassionate, on me from above.9.I heard a harper 'neath the castle wallsSing, for night-shelter in the house of thralls,A song of hapless lovers; in the shadeI paused awhile, unseen of man or maid.Taking his harp, he touched the moaning strings,And sang of queens unloved and loveless kings;His song shot through my fluttering heart like flameTill, wondering, I heard him breathe your name.Oh, then I knew how all the deathless wrongTime wrought of old is but a harper's song;And all the hopeless sorrow of long yearsAn idle tale to win a stranger's tears.Yea, in the song of Love's immortal deadOur love was told; with shuddering heart I fled,And strove to pass upon my way unseen,But song was hushed with whispers: "Lo, the Queen!"10.Was it for this we loved, O Time, to beAmong Love's deathless through eternity,Set high on lone, divided peaks aboveThe sheltered summer-valley, broad and green?Was it for this our joy and grief have been,Our barren day-dreams, dream-deserted nights--That valley-lovers, looking up, might seeHow vain is Love among the starry heights,And, loving, sigh: "How vain a thing is Love!"?O Love, that we had found thee in the shadeWhere, all day long, the deep, leaf-hidden gladeHears but the moan of some forsaken dove,Or the clear song of happy, nameless streams;Where, all night long, the August moonlight gleamsThrough warm, green dusk, no longer cold and white!O Love, that we had found thee, unafraid,One summer morn, and followed thee till night,As unknown valley-lovers follow Love!11.I have grown old, awaiting spring's return,And, now spring comes, I stand like winter greyIn a young world; yet warm within me burnThe morning-fires Love kindled in youth's day.I have grown old; the young folk look on meWith sighs, and wonder that I once was fair,And whisper one another: "Is this she?Did summer ever light that winter hair?"Ah, she is old; yet, she, too, once was young:Yea, loved as we love even, for men tellHow bright her beauty burned on every tongue,And how a knightly stranger loved her well."Yet Love grows old that beats so young and warm;His leaping fires in dust and ashes fail;Shall we, too, wither in the winter-storm,And wander thus one April, old and frail?"Love grows not old, O lovers, though youth die,And bodily beauty perish as the flower;Though all things fail, though spring and summer fly,Love's fire burns quenchless till the last dark hour.12.O valley-lovers, think you love,Being all of joy, knows naught of sorrow?A day, a nightOf swift delightThat fears no dread, grey-dawning morrow?O valley-lovers, think you loveKnows only laughter, naught of weeping?A rose-red fireOf warm desireFor ever burning, never sleeping?O lovers, little know ye Love.Love is a flame that feeds on sorrow--A lone star brightThrough endless nightThat waits a never-dawning morrow.13."Thus would I sing of life,Ere I must yield my breath:Though broken in the strife,I sought not after death.Though ruthless years have scourgedMy soul with sorrow's brands,And, day by day, have urgedMy feet o'er desert-sands;Yet would I rather treadAgain the bitter trail,Than lie, calm-browed and pale,Among the loveless dead.No pang would I forego,No stab of suffering,No agony of woe,If I to life might cling;If I might follow still,For evermore, afar,O'er barren dale and hill,My Love's unfading star.Yea, now, with failing breath,Thus would I sing of life:Though broken in the strife,I sought not after death.14.Darkness has come upon me in the end;Darkness has come upon me like a friend,Yet undesired; why comest thou, O night,To seal mine eyes for ever from the light?Darkness has come upon me; yet a starBurns through the night and beckons me from far.Look up, O eyes, unfaltering, without fear;O morning-star of Love, the dawn is near!THE GOLDEN HELM.The Golden HelmI.Across his stripling shoulders Geoffrey feltThe knighting-sword fall lightly, and he heardThe King's voice bid him rise; and at the wordHe rose, new-flushed with knighthood, swiftly grownTo sudden manhood, though, but now, he kneltA vigil-wearied squire before the throne.He paused one moment while the people turnedTo look on him with eyes that kindled bright,Seeing his face aglow with strange, new light;Yet them he saw not where they watched amazed,And, though like azure flames Queen Hild's eyes burned,Beyond the shadow of the throne he gazedTo where, in kindred rapture, young ChristineStood, tremulous and white, in wind-flower grace--Beneath her thick, dark hair, her happy facePale-gleaming 'midst the ruddy maiden-throng;But, following Geoffrey's eyes, the trembling QueenNow bade the harpers rouse the air with song:From pulsing throat and silver-throbbing stringThe music soared, light-winged, and, fluttering, fell;When, startled as one waking from a spell,Geoffrey stepped back among the waiting knights;While knelt another squire before the King.In Queen Hild's eyes yet hovered stormy lights,Beneath her glooming brows, as waters gleamUnder snow-laden skies; the summer dayFor her in that brief glance had shivered grey,Empty of light and song. She only heardThe King and knights as people of a dream;Yet keenly Geoffrey's lightest, laughing wordStung to the quick, and stabbed her quivering life,Till from each shuddering wound the red joy flowed;And, though a ruddy fire on each cheek glowed,She felt her drainèd heart within her cold;Then all at once a hot thought stirred new strifeWithin her breast, and suddenly grown oldAnd wise in treacherous imagining,She pressed her thin lips to a bitter smile,And strove with laughing mask to hide the guileThat, slowly welling, through her body pouredCold-blooded life that feels no arrowy stingOf joy or hope, nor thrust of pity's sword.To Christine, where she yet enraptured stood,Hild, turning, spake kind words, and coldly praisedThe new-made knight. Each word Christine amazedDrank in with joyous heart and eager ears;To her it seemed ne'er lived a Queen so good;And love's swift rapture filled her eyes with tears.For her true heart, the day-long pageant movedRound Geoffrey's shining presence; king and knightBut shone for her with pale, reflected light.As trancèd planets circling round the sun,About the radiant head of her belovedThe dim throngs moved until the day was done.When lucent gold suffused the cloudless west,And lingering thrush-notes failed in drowsy song,She left, at last, the weary maiden-throng,To stray alone through dew-hung garden-glades;And all the love unsealed within her breastFlowed out from her to light the darkest shades.Her quivering maiden-body could not holdThe sudden welling of love's loosened flood;Through all her limbs it gushed, and in her bloodIt stormed each throbbing pulse with blissful ache;It seemed to spray the utmost glooms with gold,And scatter glistening dews in every brake.While yet she moved in rapture unafraidAmong the lilies, down the Grey Nun's Walk,She heard behind the snapping of a stalk,And stayed transfixed, nor dared to turn her head,But stood a solitary, trembling maid--Forlorn and frail, with all her courage fled.Thus Geoffrey found her as, hot-foot, he pressedTo pour about her all the glowing tideDay-pent within his heart; the flood-gates wide,His love swept over her, sea after sea,Until life almost swooned within her breast,And she seemed like to drown in ecstasy.Yet, as the tempest sank in calm at last,She rose from out the foam of love, new-born--As Venus from the irised surf of morn--To such triumphant beauty, Geoffrey, thralled,Before her stood in wonder rooted fast;Even his love within him bowed appalledIn tongueless worship as he gazed on her;While, lily-like, the trancèd flowers among,She stood, love-radiant, and above her hungThe canopy of star-enkindling night;Though, when again she moved with joyous stir,He sprang to her in love's unchallenged might.II.All night, beside her slumbering lord, the QueenTossed sleepless--every aching sense astrainWith tingling wakefulness that racked like painHer weary limbs; all night, in wide-eyed dread,She watched the slow hours moving dark betweenThe glimmering window and the curtained bed.The fitful calling of the owl, all night,Struck like the voice of terror on her ears;With brushing wings, about her taloned fearsFluttered till dawn: when, as the summer gloom,Grey-quivering, spilt in silver-showering light,She rose and stood within the dawning room,Shivering and pale--her long, unbraided hairEach moment quickening to a livelier goldAbout her snowy shoulders; yet, more coldThan the still gleam of winter-frozen meres,Her blue eyes shone with strange, unseeing stare,As though they sought to pierce some mist of fears;And, when she turned, the old familiar thingsUnknown and alien seemed to her sight--Outworn and faded in the morning lightThe rose-embroidered tapestries, and frailThe painted Love that hung on irised wingsAbove the sleeping King. Dark-browed and paleShe looked upon her lord, and fresh despairWith dreadful calm through all her being stole,And froze with icy breath the flickering soulThat strove within her. Evil courage steeledHer heart once more, as, combing back her hair,She watched the waking world of wood and field:Hay-harvesters with long scythes flashing white;The dewy-browsing deer; the blue smoke-curlAbove some woodland hut; a kerchiefed girlDriving the kine afield with loitering pace.But, as a youthful rider came in sight,She from the casement turned with darkening face,And looked not out again, and fiercely pressedHer white teeth in her quivering underlip,To stifle the wild cry that strove to slipFrom her strained throat; with clutching hands she soughtTo stay the throbbing tumult of her breastThat fluttered like a bird in meshes caught.Christine as yet in dreamless slumber layWithin her turret-chamber; but a birdWithin the laurel singing softly stirredHer eyes to wakeful life, and from her bedShe rose and stood within the light of day,White-faced and wondering, with lifted head.As April-butterflies, new-winged for flight,That poise awhile in quivering amaze,Ere they may dare the unknown, glittering waysOf perilous airs--upon the brink of mornShe paused one moment in the showering light,In radiant ecstasy of youth forlorn.Then swift remembrance flushed her virgin snow,And wakened in her eyes the living fire;With joyous haste she drew her bright attireAbout her trembling limbs, with eager hands,Veiling her maiden beauty's morning glow,Before she looked abroad on meadowlands,Where Geoffrey rode at dawn. Across the blazeOf dandelions silvering to seed,She saw his white horse swing with easy speed;He rode with head exultant in the breezeThat lifted his brown hair. With lingering gazeShe watched him vanish down an aisle of trees;Then, swiftly gathering her dark hair in braidsAbove her slender neck, she crossed the floorWith noiseless step, unlatched the creaking door,And stole in trembling silence down the stair,Intent to reach the garden ere the maidsShould come with chattering tongues and laughter there;When by her side she heard a rustling stir:The arras parted, and before her stoodQueen Hild in proud, imperious womanhood,Looking upon her with cold, smiling eyes.In startled wonder Christine glanced at her.Then spake the Queen: "Do maids thus early riseTo tend their household duties, or to feedThe doves, relinquishing sleep's precious hoursTo see the morning dew upon the flowersAnd what frail blooms have perished 'neath the moon?To reach the Grey Nun's Walk, mayhap you speed--To count the stricken buds of lilies strewnO'ernight upon the soil by careless feetThat wandered there so late? Yea, now I know,Christine, because you flush and tremble so.Yet look you not on me with eyes that burn;I would not stay you when you go to greetThe rider of the dawn on his return.Think you I leave my bed at break of day--I, Hild the Queen--to thwart a lover's kiss?Think you my love of you could stoop to this,Though you would wed a fledgling, deedless Knight?Nay, shrink you not from me, turn not away;Because my heart has never known love's light,I fain would hear your happy tale of love,That I may prosper you and your fair youth.Will you not trust me?" Blind with love's glad truth,Christine sank down within Hild's outstretched arms.Speechless, awhile, with sobbing breath she strove;Then poured out all the tale of love's alarms,Raptures, despairs, and deathless ecstasies,In one quick torrent from her brimming heart;Then, quaking, ceased, and drew herself apart,Dismayed that she so easily had revealedTo this white, cold-eyed Queen love's sanctities.Yet Hild moved not, but stood, with hard lips sealed,Until, the chiming of the turret-bellRecalling her, she spake with far-off voice:"I, loveless, in your innocent love rejoice.May nothing stem its eager raptured course!Oh, that my barren heart could love so well,And feel the surge of love's subduing force!Yet even I from out my dearth may giveTo you, Christine. Would you that Geoffrey's nameShall shine, unchallenged, on the lists of fame?If you would have him win for you the crownOf knightly immortality, and liveTriumphant on men's tongues in high renown,Follow me now." With cold, exulting eyesShe raised the arras, opening to the lightAn unknown stair-way clambering into night.Within the caverned wall she swiftly passed.Christine for one brief moment in surpriseUncertain paused; then, wondering, followed fast.The falling arras shutting out the day,She stumbled blindly through the soaring gloom--Enclosing dank and chilly as the tombHer panting life; and unto her it seemedThat ever, as she climbed, more sheer the wayBefore her rose, and ever fainter gleamedThe wan, white star of light that overheadHovered remote. Far up the stair she heardA silken rustling as, without a word,Relentlessly Queen Hild before her spedFor ever up the ever-soaring steep.But when it almost seemed that she must fall--So loudly in her ears the pulses beat,And each step seemed to sink beneath her feet--She heard the shrilly grating of a key,And saw, above her, in the unseen wall,A dazzling square of day break suddenly.Within the lighted doorway Queen Hild turnedTo reach a helping hand, and, as she bentTo clutch the swooning maiden, well-nigh spent,And drew her to the chamber, weak and faint,Through her gold hair so rare a lustre burned,It seemed to Christine that an aureoled saintLeaned out from heaven to snatch her from the deep.Then, dizzily, she sank upon the floor,Dreaming that toil was over evermore,And she secure in Love's celestial fold;Till, waking gradually as from a sleep,Her dark eyes opened on a blaze of gold.She sat within a chamber hung aroundWith glistering tapestry, whereon a knight,Who bore a golden helm above the fight,For ever triumphed o'er assailing swords,Or led the greenwood chase with horse and hound,While far behind him lagged the dames and lordsAnd all the hunting train; till he, at length,Brought low the antlered quarry on the brinkOf some deep, craggy cleft, wherefrom did shrinkThe quailing hounds with lathered flanks aquake.As Christine looked on them, her maiden-strengthReturned to her; and now, more broad awake,She saw, within the centre of the room,A golden table whereon glittered brightA casket of wrought gold, and, in the light,Queen Hild, awaiting her, with smiling lips,And laughing words: "Is this then love's sad doom,To perish, fainting, in light's brief eclipseBetween a curtain and a closed door?Shall this bright casket ever hold, unsought,The golden helm--in elfin-ages wroughtFor some star-destined knight--because love's heartGrows faint within her? Shall the world no moreAcclaim its helmèd lord?" But, with a start,Christine arose, and swiftly forward cameWith eager eyes, and stooped with fluttering breast--Her slender, shapely hands together pressedIn tense expectancy, and all her faceWith quivering light of wondering love aflame.The Queen bent down, and in a breathing spaceUnlocked the casket with a golden key,And deftly loosed a little golden pin;The heavy lid swung open and, within,To Christine's eyes revealed the golden helm.Then spake Queen Hild, once more: "Your love-gift see!Think you that any smith in all the realmCan beat dull metal to so fair a casque?In jewelled caverns of enchantment oldThis helm was wrought of magic-tempered goldTo yieldless strength, by elfin-hammers chased,That toiled unwearied at their age-long task,And over it an unknown legend tracedIn letters of some world-forgotten tongue.At noon, with careful footing, down the stairUnto the hall the casket you must bear,When King and knight are gathered round the board,And, ere the tales be told or songs be sung,Acclaim your love the golden-helmed lord."Christine, awhile, in speechless wonderment,Hung o'er the glistering helm, and silence fellWithin the arrased chamber like a spell;While softly, on some distant, sunlit roof,The basking pigeons cooed with deep content;Till, far below, a sudden-clanging hoofStartled the morn. The women's lifted eyesOne moment met in kindred ecstasy;Then Hild, with hopeless shudder, shaking free,With strained voice spake: "Why do you longer wait?Your love returns; shall he, in sad surprise,Find no glad face to greet him at the gate?"

VOICE OF THE EVENING WIND: The sun is gone,

and the last, red flame

Has faded away in a shimmer of rose--

A shimmer of rose that shivers to grey.

The kings are glad of the dying day--

The kings are weary; the white mists close,

The white mists gather to cover their shame.

THE SONGS OF QUEEN AVERLAINE.

To M. B.

PERSONS: THE KING,QUEEN AVERLAINE,THE KNIGHT ARKELD.

PERSONS: THE KING,

QUEEN AVERLAINE,THE KNIGHT ARKELD.

QUEEN AVERLAINE,

THE KNIGHT ARKELD.

I.KING AND QUEEN.

The day has come; at last my dream unfoldsWhite, wondering petals with the rising sun.No other glade in Love's world-garden holdsSo fair a bloom from vanquished winter won.

The day has come; at last my dream unfolds

White, wondering petals with the rising sun.

No other glade in Love's world-garden holds

So fair a bloom from vanquished winter won.

Long, oh, so long I watched through budding hours,And, trembling, feared my dream would never wake;As, one by one, I saw star-tranced flowersOut on the night their dewy splendour shake.

Long, oh, so long I watched through budding hours,

And, trembling, feared my dream would never wake;

As, one by one, I saw star-tranced flowers

Out on the night their dewy splendour shake.

But with the earliest gleam of dawn it stirred,Knowing that Love had put the dark to flight;And I must sing more glad than any birdBecause the sun has filled my dream with light.

But with the earliest gleam of dawn it stirred,

Knowing that Love had put the dark to flight;

And I must sing more glad than any bird

Because the sun has filled my dream with light.

Is it high noon, already, in the land?O Love, I dreamed that morn could never pass;That we might ever wander, hand in hand,As children in June-meadows plucking flowers,Through ever-waking, fresh-unfolding hours:Yet now we sink love-wearied in the grass;Yea, it is noon, high noon in all the land.

Is it high noon, already, in the land?

O Love, I dreamed that morn could never pass;

That we might ever wander, hand in hand,

As children in June-meadows plucking flowers,

Through ever-waking, fresh-unfolding hours:

Yet now we sink love-wearied in the grass;

Yea, it is noon, high noon in all the land.

The young wind slumbers; all the little birdsThat sang about us in the fields of mornAre songless now; no happy flight of wordsOn Love's lip hovers--Love has waxed to noon.Ah, God, if Love should wane to evening soonTo perish in a sunless world, forlorn,And cease with the last song of weary birds!

The young wind slumbers; all the little birds

That sang about us in the fields of morn

Are songless now; no happy flight of words

On Love's lip hovers--Love has waxed to noon.

Ah, God, if Love should wane to evening soon

To perish in a sunless world, forlorn,

And cease with the last song of weary birds!

At dawn I gathered flowers of white,To garland them for your delight.

At dawn I gathered flowers of white,

To garland them for your delight.

At noon I gathered flowers of blue,To weave them into joy for you.

At noon I gathered flowers of blue,

To weave them into joy for you.

At eve I gather purple flowers,To strew above the withered hours.

At eve I gather purple flowers,

To strew above the withered hours.

She knelt at eve beside the stream,And, sighing, sang: "O waters clear,Forsaken now of joy and fear,I come to drown a withered dream.

She knelt at eve beside the stream,

And, sighing, sang: "O waters clear,

Forsaken now of joy and fear,

I come to drown a withered dream.

"Unseen of day, I let it fallWithin the shadow of my hair.O little dream, that bloomed so fair,The waters hide you after all!"

"Unseen of day, I let it fall

Within the shadow of my hair.

O little dream, that bloomed so fair,

The waters hide you after all!"

"Is it not dawn?" she cried, and raised her head,"Or hath the sun, grey-shrouded, yesternight,Gone down with Love for ever to the dead?When Love has perished, can there yet be light?"

"Is it not dawn?" she cried, and raised her head,

"Or hath the sun, grey-shrouded, yesternight,

Gone down with Love for ever to the dead?

When Love has perished, can there yet be light?"

"Yea, it is dawn," one answered: "see the dewQuivers agleam, and all the east is white;While in the willow song begins anew.""When Love has perished, can there yet be light?"

"Yea, it is dawn," one answered: "see the dew

Quivers agleam, and all the east is white;

While in the willow song begins anew."

"When Love has perished, can there yet be light?"

II.AVERLAINE AND ARKELD.

ARKELD: Oh, why did you lift your eyes to mine?Oh, why did you lift your drooping head?

ARKELD: Oh, why did you lift your eyes to mine?

Oh, why did you lift your drooping head?

AVERLAINE: The tangled threads of the fates entwineOur hearts that follow as children led.

AVERLAINE: The tangled threads of the fates entwine

Our hearts that follow as children led.

ARKELD: From the utmost ends of the earth we came,As star moves starward through wildering night.

ARKELD: From the utmost ends of the earth we came,

As star moves starward through wildering night.

AVERLAINE: Our souls have mingled as flame with flame,Yea, they have mingled as light with light.

AVERLAINE: Our souls have mingled as flame with flame,

Yea, they have mingled as light with light.

ARKELD: Ah God, ah God, that it never had been!

AVERLAINE: The Shadow, the Shadow that falls between!

ARKELD: The stars in their courses move through the skyUnswerving, unheeding, cold and blind.

ARKELD: The stars in their courses move through the sky

Unswerving, unheeding, cold and blind.

AVERLAINE: Why did you linger nor pass me byWhere the cross-roads meet in the ways that wind?

AVERLAINE: Why did you linger nor pass me by

Where the cross-roads meet in the ways that wind?

ARKELD: I saw your eyes from the dusk of your hairFlame out with sorrow and yearning love.

ARKELD: I saw your eyes from the dusk of your hair

Flame out with sorrow and yearning love.

AVERLAINE: And I, who wandered with grey despair,Looking up, saw heaven in blossom above.

AVERLAINE: And I, who wandered with grey despair,

Looking up, saw heaven in blossom above.

ARKELD: Ah God, ah God, that it never had been!

AVERLAINE: The Shadow, the Shadow that falls between!

ARKELD: May we not go as we came, alone,Unto the ends of the earth anew?

ARKELD: May we not go as we came, alone,

Unto the ends of the earth anew?

AVERLAINE: May we draw afresh from the rose new-blownThe golden sunlight, the crystal dew?

AVERLAINE: May we draw afresh from the rose new-blown

The golden sunlight, the crystal dew?

ARKELD: Yea, love between us has bloomed as a roseOut of the desert under our feet.

ARKELD: Yea, love between us has bloomed as a rose

Out of the desert under our feet.

AVERLAINE: May we forget how the red heart glows,Forget that the dew on the petals is sweet?

AVERLAINE: May we forget how the red heart glows,

Forget that the dew on the petals is sweet?

ARKELD: Ah God, ah God, that it never had been!

AVERLAINE: The Shadow, the Shadow that falls between!

ARKELD: Have the ages brought us together that weMight tremble, start at shadows, and cry?

ARKELD: Have the ages brought us together that we

Might tremble, start at shadows, and cry?

AVERLAINE: Yea, it has been, and ever will beTill Sorrow be slain or Love's self die.

AVERLAINE: Yea, it has been, and ever will be

Till Sorrow be slain or Love's self die.

ARKELD: Stronger than Sorrow is Love; and Hate,The brother of Love, shall end our Sorrow.

ARKELD: Stronger than Sorrow is Love; and Hate,

The brother of Love, shall end our Sorrow.

AVERLAINE: The Shadow is strong with the strength of Fate,And, slain, would rise from the grave to-morrow.

AVERLAINE: The Shadow is strong with the strength of Fate,

And, slain, would rise from the grave to-morrow.

ARKELD: Ah God, ah God, that it never had been!

AVERLAINE: The Shadow, the Shadow for ever between!

AVERLAINE: Yea, we must part, and tear with ruthless handsThe golden web wherein, too late, Love stroveTo weave us joy and bind us heart to heart.

AVERLAINE: Yea, we must part, and tear with ruthless hands

The golden web wherein, too late, Love strove

To weave us joy and bind us heart to heart.

ARKELD: Yea, we must part, and strew on desert-sandsPetal by petal all the rose of Love,And part for ever where the cross-ways part.

ARKELD: Yea, we must part, and strew on desert-sands

Petal by petal all the rose of Love,

And part for ever where the cross-ways part.

AVERLAINE: Yea, we must part, and never turn our eyesFrom strange horizons, desolate and far,Though Love cry ever: "Turn but once, sad heart!"

AVERLAINE: Yea, we must part, and never turn our eyes

From strange horizons, desolate and far,

Though Love cry ever: "Turn but once, sad heart!"

ARKELD: Yea, we must part, and under alien skiesMust follow after some cold, gleaming star,And roam, as north and south winds roam, apart.

ARKELD: Yea, we must part, and under alien skies

Must follow after some cold, gleaming star,

And roam, as north and south winds roam, apart.

AVERLAINE: Yea, we must part, ere Love be grown too strongAnd we too helpless to resist his might;While each may go with pure, unshamed heart.

AVERLAINE: Yea, we must part, ere Love be grown too strong

And we too helpless to resist his might;

While each may go with pure, unshamed heart.

ARKELD: Yea, we must part; and though we do Love wrong,He will the more subdue us in our flight,And hold us each more surely his, apart.

ARKELD: Yea, we must part; and though we do Love wrong,

He will the more subdue us in our flight,

And hold us each more surely his, apart.

III. QUEEN AVERLAINE.

O love, I bade you go; and you have borneThe summer with you from the valley-lands;The poppy-flame has perished from the corn;And in the chill, wan light of early mornThe reapers come in doleful, starveling bands,To bind the blackened sheaves with listless hands;For rain has put their sowing-toil to scorn.

O love, I bade you go; and you have borne

The summer with you from the valley-lands;

The poppy-flame has perished from the corn;

And in the chill, wan light of early morn

The reapers come in doleful, starveling bands,

To bind the blackened sheaves with listless hands;

For rain has put their sowing-toil to scorn.

O Love, I bade you go; and autumn bringsBleak desolation; yet within my heartUnquenched and fierce the flame you kindled springs;For, echoing all day long, the courtyard ringsAs loud it rang when, rending Love apart,Your white horse cantered--swift and keen to start--Into a world of other queens and kings.

O Love, I bade you go; and autumn brings

Bleak desolation; yet within my heart

Unquenched and fierce the flame you kindled springs;

For, echoing all day long, the courtyard rings

As loud it rang when, rending Love apart,

Your white horse cantered--swift and keen to start--

Into a world of other queens and kings.

I bade you go; ah, wherefore are you gone?How could you leave me dark and desolate,O Sun of Love, that for brief summer shone?Mine eyes are ever on the western gate,Half-wishing, half-foredreading your return.Return, O Love, return!

I bade you go; ah, wherefore are you gone?

How could you leave me dark and desolate,

O Sun of Love, that for brief summer shone?

Mine eyes are ever on the western gate,

Half-wishing, half-foredreading your return.

Return, O Love, return!

I cannot live without you; through the darkI stretch blind hands to you across the world;All day on unknown battle-fields I markYour sword's red course, your banner blue unfurled;Yet never, in my day-dreams, you return.Return, O Love, return!

I cannot live without you; through the dark

I stretch blind hands to you across the world;

All day on unknown battle-fields I mark

Your sword's red course, your banner blue unfurled;

Yet never, in my day-dreams, you return.

Return, O Love, return!

Nay, you are gone: O Love, I bade you go.I would not have you come again to beA stranger in this house of silent woe,Where, being all, you would be naught to me.Mine, mine in dreams, but lost if you return;Oh, nevermore return!

Nay, you are gone: O Love, I bade you go.

I would not have you come again to be

A stranger in this house of silent woe,

Where, being all, you would be naught to me.

Mine, mine in dreams, but lost if you return;

Oh, nevermore return!

"To-day a wandering harper cameWith outland tales of deeds of fame;I hearkened from the noonday brightUntil the failing of the light,The while he sang of joust and fight;Yet never once I caught your name.

"To-day a wandering harper came

With outland tales of deeds of fame;

I hearkened from the noonday bright

Until the failing of the light,

The while he sang of joust and fight;

Yet never once I caught your name.

Oh, whither, whither are you gone,Whose name victorious ever shoneAbove all knights of other lands?Across what wilderness of sands?By what dead sea-deserted strands?On what far quest of Love forlorn?

Oh, whither, whither are you gone,

Whose name victorious ever shone

Above all knights of other lands?

Across what wilderness of sands?

By what dead sea-deserted strands?

On what far quest of Love forlorn?

I loved you when men called you LordArkeld, the never-sleeping sword;Yet now, when all your might is furled,And you no longer crest the world,More are you mine than when you hurledDestruction on the embattled horde.

I loved you when men called you Lord

Arkeld, the never-sleeping sword;

Yet now, when all your might is furled,

And you no longer crest the world,

More are you mine than when you hurled

Destruction on the embattled horde.

Oh, deeper in the silent houseThe silence falls;Only the stir of bat or mouseAbout the walls.

Oh, deeper in the silent house

The silence falls;

Only the stir of bat or mouse

About the walls.

No cry, no voice in any room,No gust of breath;As if, within the clutch of doom,We waited death.

No cry, no voice in any room,

No gust of breath;

As if, within the clutch of doom,

We waited death.

The King is dead;No longer nowThe cold eyes gleamBeneath his brow.

The King is dead;

No longer now

The cold eyes gleam

Beneath his brow.

O cold, grey eyes,Wherein the lightOf Love at dawnSeemed clear and bright,

O cold, grey eyes,

Wherein the light

Of Love at dawn

Seemed clear and bright,

No true Love burnedYour cold desire,Which mirrored butMy own heart's fire.

No true Love burned

Your cold desire,

Which mirrored but

My own heart's fire.

The King died yesterday.... Ah, no, he diedWhen young Love perished long, so long ago;And on his throne, as marble at my side,Has reigned a carven image, cold as snow,Though all men bowed before it, crying: "King!"

The King died yesterday.... Ah, no, he died

When young Love perished long, so long ago;

And on his throne, as marble at my side,

Has reigned a carven image, cold as snow,

Though all men bowed before it, crying: "King!"

Too late, too late the chains which held me fall;Rock-bound, I bade the victor-knight go by;And now, when time has loosed me from the thrall,I know not where he tarries, 'neath what skyHe waits the winter's end, the dawn of spring.

Too late, too late the chains which held me fall;

Rock-bound, I bade the victor-knight go by;

And now, when time has loosed me from the thrall,

I know not where he tarries, 'neath what sky

He waits the winter's end, the dawn of spring.

Spring comes no more for me: though young March blowTo flame the larches, and from tree to treeThe green fire leap, till all the woodlands glow--Though every runnel, filled to overflow,Bear sea-ward, loud and brown with melted snow,Spring comes no more for me!

Spring comes no more for me: though young March blow

To flame the larches, and from tree to tree

The green fire leap, till all the woodlands glow--

Though every runnel, filled to overflow,

Bear sea-ward, loud and brown with melted snow,

Spring comes no more for me!

Spring comes no more for me: though April lightThe flame of gorse above the peacock sea;Though in an interweaving mesh of whiteThe seagulls hover 'neath the cliff's sheer height;Though, hour by hour, new joys are winged for flight,Spring comes no more for me!

Spring comes no more for me: though April light

The flame of gorse above the peacock sea;

Though in an interweaving mesh of white

The seagulls hover 'neath the cliff's sheer height;

Though, hour by hour, new joys are winged for flight,

Spring comes no more for me!

Spring comes no more for me: though May will shakeWhite flame of hawthorn over all the lea,Till every thick-set hedge and tangled brakePuts on fresh flower of beauty for her sake;Though all the world from winter-sleep awake,Spring comes no more for me!

Spring comes no more for me: though May will shake

White flame of hawthorn over all the lea,

Till every thick-set hedge and tangled brake

Puts on fresh flower of beauty for her sake;

Though all the world from winter-sleep awake,

Spring comes no more for me!

I wandered through the city till I cameWithin the vast cathedral, cool and dim;I looked upon the windows all aflameWith blazoned knights and saints and seraphim.

I wandered through the city till I came

Within the vast cathedral, cool and dim;

I looked upon the windows all aflame

With blazoned knights and saints and seraphim.

I looked on kings in purple, gold and blue,On martyrs high before whom all men bow;Until a gleam of light my footsteps drewBefore a shining seraph, on whose brow

I looked on kings in purple, gold and blue,

On martyrs high before whom all men bow;

Until a gleam of light my footsteps drew

Before a shining seraph, on whose brow

A little flame, for ever pure and white,Unwavering burns--the symbol of our love;And as I knelt before him in the night,He looked, compassionate, on me from above.

A little flame, for ever pure and white,

Unwavering burns--the symbol of our love;

And as I knelt before him in the night,

He looked, compassionate, on me from above.

I heard a harper 'neath the castle wallsSing, for night-shelter in the house of thralls,A song of hapless lovers; in the shadeI paused awhile, unseen of man or maid.

I heard a harper 'neath the castle walls

Sing, for night-shelter in the house of thralls,

A song of hapless lovers; in the shade

I paused awhile, unseen of man or maid.

Taking his harp, he touched the moaning strings,And sang of queens unloved and loveless kings;His song shot through my fluttering heart like flameTill, wondering, I heard him breathe your name.

Taking his harp, he touched the moaning strings,

And sang of queens unloved and loveless kings;

His song shot through my fluttering heart like flame

Till, wondering, I heard him breathe your name.

Oh, then I knew how all the deathless wrongTime wrought of old is but a harper's song;And all the hopeless sorrow of long yearsAn idle tale to win a stranger's tears.

Oh, then I knew how all the deathless wrong

Time wrought of old is but a harper's song;

And all the hopeless sorrow of long years

An idle tale to win a stranger's tears.

Yea, in the song of Love's immortal deadOur love was told; with shuddering heart I fled,And strove to pass upon my way unseen,But song was hushed with whispers: "Lo, the Queen!"

Yea, in the song of Love's immortal dead

Our love was told; with shuddering heart I fled,

And strove to pass upon my way unseen,

But song was hushed with whispers: "Lo, the Queen!"

10.

Was it for this we loved, O Time, to beAmong Love's deathless through eternity,Set high on lone, divided peaks aboveThe sheltered summer-valley, broad and green?Was it for this our joy and grief have been,Our barren day-dreams, dream-deserted nights--That valley-lovers, looking up, might seeHow vain is Love among the starry heights,And, loving, sigh: "How vain a thing is Love!"?

Was it for this we loved, O Time, to be

Among Love's deathless through eternity,

Set high on lone, divided peaks above

The sheltered summer-valley, broad and green?

Was it for this our joy and grief have been,

Our barren day-dreams, dream-deserted nights--

That valley-lovers, looking up, might see

How vain is Love among the starry heights,

And, loving, sigh: "How vain a thing is Love!"?

O Love, that we had found thee in the shadeWhere, all day long, the deep, leaf-hidden gladeHears but the moan of some forsaken dove,Or the clear song of happy, nameless streams;Where, all night long, the August moonlight gleamsThrough warm, green dusk, no longer cold and white!O Love, that we had found thee, unafraid,One summer morn, and followed thee till night,As unknown valley-lovers follow Love!

O Love, that we had found thee in the shade

Where, all day long, the deep, leaf-hidden glade

Hears but the moan of some forsaken dove,

Or the clear song of happy, nameless streams;

Where, all night long, the August moonlight gleams

Through warm, green dusk, no longer cold and white!

O Love, that we had found thee, unafraid,

One summer morn, and followed thee till night,

As unknown valley-lovers follow Love!

11.

I have grown old, awaiting spring's return,And, now spring comes, I stand like winter greyIn a young world; yet warm within me burnThe morning-fires Love kindled in youth's day.

I have grown old, awaiting spring's return,

And, now spring comes, I stand like winter grey

In a young world; yet warm within me burn

The morning-fires Love kindled in youth's day.

I have grown old; the young folk look on meWith sighs, and wonder that I once was fair,And whisper one another: "Is this she?Did summer ever light that winter hair?

I have grown old; the young folk look on me

With sighs, and wonder that I once was fair,

And whisper one another: "Is this she?

Did summer ever light that winter hair?

"Ah, she is old; yet, she, too, once was young:Yea, loved as we love even, for men tellHow bright her beauty burned on every tongue,And how a knightly stranger loved her well.

"Ah, she is old; yet, she, too, once was young:

Yea, loved as we love even, for men tell

How bright her beauty burned on every tongue,

And how a knightly stranger loved her well.

"Yet Love grows old that beats so young and warm;His leaping fires in dust and ashes fail;Shall we, too, wither in the winter-storm,And wander thus one April, old and frail?"

"Yet Love grows old that beats so young and warm;

His leaping fires in dust and ashes fail;

Shall we, too, wither in the winter-storm,

And wander thus one April, old and frail?"

Love grows not old, O lovers, though youth die,And bodily beauty perish as the flower;Though all things fail, though spring and summer fly,Love's fire burns quenchless till the last dark hour.

Love grows not old, O lovers, though youth die,

And bodily beauty perish as the flower;

Though all things fail, though spring and summer fly,

Love's fire burns quenchless till the last dark hour.

12.

O valley-lovers, think you love,Being all of joy, knows naught of sorrow?A day, a nightOf swift delightThat fears no dread, grey-dawning morrow?

O valley-lovers, think you love,

Being all of joy, knows naught of sorrow?

A day, a night

Of swift delight

That fears no dread, grey-dawning morrow?

O valley-lovers, think you loveKnows only laughter, naught of weeping?A rose-red fireOf warm desireFor ever burning, never sleeping?

O valley-lovers, think you love

Knows only laughter, naught of weeping?

A rose-red fire

Of warm desire

For ever burning, never sleeping?

O lovers, little know ye Love.Love is a flame that feeds on sorrow--A lone star brightThrough endless nightThat waits a never-dawning morrow.

O lovers, little know ye Love.

Love is a flame that feeds on sorrow--

A lone star bright

Through endless night

That waits a never-dawning morrow.

13.

"Thus would I sing of life,Ere I must yield my breath:Though broken in the strife,I sought not after death.Though ruthless years have scourgedMy soul with sorrow's brands,And, day by day, have urgedMy feet o'er desert-sands;Yet would I rather treadAgain the bitter trail,Than lie, calm-browed and pale,Among the loveless dead.

"Thus would I sing of life,

Ere I must yield my breath:

Though broken in the strife,

I sought not after death.

Though ruthless years have scourged

My soul with sorrow's brands,

And, day by day, have urged

My feet o'er desert-sands;

Yet would I rather tread

Again the bitter trail,

Than lie, calm-browed and pale,

Among the loveless dead.

No pang would I forego,No stab of suffering,No agony of woe,If I to life might cling;If I might follow still,For evermore, afar,O'er barren dale and hill,My Love's unfading star.Yea, now, with failing breath,Thus would I sing of life:Though broken in the strife,I sought not after death.

No pang would I forego,

No stab of suffering,

No agony of woe,

If I to life might cling;

If I might follow still,

For evermore, afar,

O'er barren dale and hill,

My Love's unfading star.

Yea, now, with failing breath,

Thus would I sing of life:

Though broken in the strife,

I sought not after death.

14.

Darkness has come upon me in the end;Darkness has come upon me like a friend,Yet undesired; why comest thou, O night,To seal mine eyes for ever from the light?

Darkness has come upon me in the end;

Darkness has come upon me like a friend,

Yet undesired; why comest thou, O night,

To seal mine eyes for ever from the light?

Darkness has come upon me; yet a starBurns through the night and beckons me from far.Look up, O eyes, unfaltering, without fear;O morning-star of Love, the dawn is near!

Darkness has come upon me; yet a star

Burns through the night and beckons me from far.

Look up, O eyes, unfaltering, without fear;

O morning-star of Love, the dawn is near!

THE GOLDEN HELM.

The Golden Helm

Across his stripling shoulders Geoffrey feltThe knighting-sword fall lightly, and he heardThe King's voice bid him rise; and at the wordHe rose, new-flushed with knighthood, swiftly grownTo sudden manhood, though, but now, he kneltA vigil-wearied squire before the throne.He paused one moment while the people turnedTo look on him with eyes that kindled bright,Seeing his face aglow with strange, new light;Yet them he saw not where they watched amazed,And, though like azure flames Queen Hild's eyes burned,Beyond the shadow of the throne he gazedTo where, in kindred rapture, young ChristineStood, tremulous and white, in wind-flower grace--Beneath her thick, dark hair, her happy facePale-gleaming 'midst the ruddy maiden-throng;But, following Geoffrey's eyes, the trembling QueenNow bade the harpers rouse the air with song:From pulsing throat and silver-throbbing stringThe music soared, light-winged, and, fluttering, fell;When, startled as one waking from a spell,Geoffrey stepped back among the waiting knights;While knelt another squire before the King.In Queen Hild's eyes yet hovered stormy lights,Beneath her glooming brows, as waters gleamUnder snow-laden skies; the summer dayFor her in that brief glance had shivered grey,Empty of light and song. She only heardThe King and knights as people of a dream;Yet keenly Geoffrey's lightest, laughing wordStung to the quick, and stabbed her quivering life,Till from each shuddering wound the red joy flowed;And, though a ruddy fire on each cheek glowed,She felt her drainèd heart within her cold;Then all at once a hot thought stirred new strifeWithin her breast, and suddenly grown oldAnd wise in treacherous imagining,She pressed her thin lips to a bitter smile,And strove with laughing mask to hide the guileThat, slowly welling, through her body pouredCold-blooded life that feels no arrowy stingOf joy or hope, nor thrust of pity's sword.To Christine, where she yet enraptured stood,Hild, turning, spake kind words, and coldly praisedThe new-made knight. Each word Christine amazedDrank in with joyous heart and eager ears;To her it seemed ne'er lived a Queen so good;And love's swift rapture filled her eyes with tears.For her true heart, the day-long pageant movedRound Geoffrey's shining presence; king and knightBut shone for her with pale, reflected light.As trancèd planets circling round the sun,About the radiant head of her belovedThe dim throngs moved until the day was done.When lucent gold suffused the cloudless west,And lingering thrush-notes failed in drowsy song,She left, at last, the weary maiden-throng,To stray alone through dew-hung garden-glades;And all the love unsealed within her breastFlowed out from her to light the darkest shades.Her quivering maiden-body could not holdThe sudden welling of love's loosened flood;Through all her limbs it gushed, and in her bloodIt stormed each throbbing pulse with blissful ache;It seemed to spray the utmost glooms with gold,And scatter glistening dews in every brake.While yet she moved in rapture unafraidAmong the lilies, down the Grey Nun's Walk,She heard behind the snapping of a stalk,And stayed transfixed, nor dared to turn her head,But stood a solitary, trembling maid--Forlorn and frail, with all her courage fled.Thus Geoffrey found her as, hot-foot, he pressedTo pour about her all the glowing tideDay-pent within his heart; the flood-gates wide,His love swept over her, sea after sea,Until life almost swooned within her breast,And she seemed like to drown in ecstasy.Yet, as the tempest sank in calm at last,She rose from out the foam of love, new-born--As Venus from the irised surf of morn--To such triumphant beauty, Geoffrey, thralled,Before her stood in wonder rooted fast;Even his love within him bowed appalledIn tongueless worship as he gazed on her;While, lily-like, the trancèd flowers among,She stood, love-radiant, and above her hungThe canopy of star-enkindling night;Though, when again she moved with joyous stir,He sprang to her in love's unchallenged might.

Across his stripling shoulders Geoffrey felt

The knighting-sword fall lightly, and he heard

The King's voice bid him rise; and at the word

He rose, new-flushed with knighthood, swiftly grown

To sudden manhood, though, but now, he knelt

A vigil-wearied squire before the throne.

He paused one moment while the people turned

To look on him with eyes that kindled bright,

Seeing his face aglow with strange, new light;

Yet them he saw not where they watched amazed,

And, though like azure flames Queen Hild's eyes burned,

Beyond the shadow of the throne he gazed

To where, in kindred rapture, young Christine

Stood, tremulous and white, in wind-flower grace--

Beneath her thick, dark hair, her happy face

Pale-gleaming 'midst the ruddy maiden-throng;

But, following Geoffrey's eyes, the trembling Queen

Now bade the harpers rouse the air with song:

From pulsing throat and silver-throbbing string

The music soared, light-winged, and, fluttering, fell;

When, startled as one waking from a spell,

Geoffrey stepped back among the waiting knights;

While knelt another squire before the King.

In Queen Hild's eyes yet hovered stormy lights,

Beneath her glooming brows, as waters gleam

Under snow-laden skies; the summer day

For her in that brief glance had shivered grey,

Empty of light and song. She only heard

The King and knights as people of a dream;

Yet keenly Geoffrey's lightest, laughing word

Stung to the quick, and stabbed her quivering life,

Till from each shuddering wound the red joy flowed;

And, though a ruddy fire on each cheek glowed,

She felt her drainèd heart within her cold;

Then all at once a hot thought stirred new strife

Within her breast, and suddenly grown old

And wise in treacherous imagining,

She pressed her thin lips to a bitter smile,

And strove with laughing mask to hide the guile

That, slowly welling, through her body poured

Cold-blooded life that feels no arrowy sting

Of joy or hope, nor thrust of pity's sword.

To Christine, where she yet enraptured stood,

Hild, turning, spake kind words, and coldly praised

The new-made knight. Each word Christine amazed

Drank in with joyous heart and eager ears;

To her it seemed ne'er lived a Queen so good;

And love's swift rapture filled her eyes with tears.

For her true heart, the day-long pageant moved

Round Geoffrey's shining presence; king and knight

But shone for her with pale, reflected light.

As trancèd planets circling round the sun,

About the radiant head of her beloved

The dim throngs moved until the day was done.

When lucent gold suffused the cloudless west,

And lingering thrush-notes failed in drowsy song,

She left, at last, the weary maiden-throng,

To stray alone through dew-hung garden-glades;

And all the love unsealed within her breast

Flowed out from her to light the darkest shades.

Her quivering maiden-body could not hold

The sudden welling of love's loosened flood;

Through all her limbs it gushed, and in her blood

It stormed each throbbing pulse with blissful ache;

It seemed to spray the utmost glooms with gold,

And scatter glistening dews in every brake.

While yet she moved in rapture unafraid

Among the lilies, down the Grey Nun's Walk,

She heard behind the snapping of a stalk,

And stayed transfixed, nor dared to turn her head,

But stood a solitary, trembling maid--

Forlorn and frail, with all her courage fled.

Thus Geoffrey found her as, hot-foot, he pressed

To pour about her all the glowing tide

Day-pent within his heart; the flood-gates wide,

His love swept over her, sea after sea,

Until life almost swooned within her breast,

And she seemed like to drown in ecstasy.

Yet, as the tempest sank in calm at last,

She rose from out the foam of love, new-born--

As Venus from the irised surf of morn--

To such triumphant beauty, Geoffrey, thralled,

Before her stood in wonder rooted fast;

Even his love within him bowed appalled

In tongueless worship as he gazed on her;

While, lily-like, the trancèd flowers among,

She stood, love-radiant, and above her hung

The canopy of star-enkindling night;

Though, when again she moved with joyous stir,

He sprang to her in love's unchallenged might.

II.

All night, beside her slumbering lord, the QueenTossed sleepless--every aching sense astrainWith tingling wakefulness that racked like painHer weary limbs; all night, in wide-eyed dread,She watched the slow hours moving dark betweenThe glimmering window and the curtained bed.The fitful calling of the owl, all night,Struck like the voice of terror on her ears;With brushing wings, about her taloned fearsFluttered till dawn: when, as the summer gloom,Grey-quivering, spilt in silver-showering light,She rose and stood within the dawning room,Shivering and pale--her long, unbraided hairEach moment quickening to a livelier goldAbout her snowy shoulders; yet, more coldThan the still gleam of winter-frozen meres,Her blue eyes shone with strange, unseeing stare,As though they sought to pierce some mist of fears;And, when she turned, the old familiar thingsUnknown and alien seemed to her sight--Outworn and faded in the morning lightThe rose-embroidered tapestries, and frailThe painted Love that hung on irised wingsAbove the sleeping King. Dark-browed and paleShe looked upon her lord, and fresh despairWith dreadful calm through all her being stole,And froze with icy breath the flickering soulThat strove within her. Evil courage steeledHer heart once more, as, combing back her hair,She watched the waking world of wood and field:Hay-harvesters with long scythes flashing white;The dewy-browsing deer; the blue smoke-curlAbove some woodland hut; a kerchiefed girlDriving the kine afield with loitering pace.But, as a youthful rider came in sight,She from the casement turned with darkening face,And looked not out again, and fiercely pressedHer white teeth in her quivering underlip,To stifle the wild cry that strove to slipFrom her strained throat; with clutching hands she soughtTo stay the throbbing tumult of her breastThat fluttered like a bird in meshes caught.

All night, beside her slumbering lord, the Queen

Tossed sleepless--every aching sense astrain

With tingling wakefulness that racked like pain

Her weary limbs; all night, in wide-eyed dread,

She watched the slow hours moving dark between

The glimmering window and the curtained bed.

The fitful calling of the owl, all night,

Struck like the voice of terror on her ears;

With brushing wings, about her taloned fears

Fluttered till dawn: when, as the summer gloom,

Grey-quivering, spilt in silver-showering light,

She rose and stood within the dawning room,

Shivering and pale--her long, unbraided hair

Each moment quickening to a livelier gold

About her snowy shoulders; yet, more cold

Than the still gleam of winter-frozen meres,

Her blue eyes shone with strange, unseeing stare,

As though they sought to pierce some mist of fears;

And, when she turned, the old familiar things

Unknown and alien seemed to her sight--

Outworn and faded in the morning light

The rose-embroidered tapestries, and frail

The painted Love that hung on irised wings

Above the sleeping King. Dark-browed and pale

She looked upon her lord, and fresh despair

With dreadful calm through all her being stole,

And froze with icy breath the flickering soul

That strove within her. Evil courage steeled

Her heart once more, as, combing back her hair,

She watched the waking world of wood and field:

Hay-harvesters with long scythes flashing white;

The dewy-browsing deer; the blue smoke-curl

Above some woodland hut; a kerchiefed girl

Driving the kine afield with loitering pace.

But, as a youthful rider came in sight,

She from the casement turned with darkening face,

And looked not out again, and fiercely pressed

Her white teeth in her quivering underlip,

To stifle the wild cry that strove to slip

From her strained throat; with clutching hands she sought

To stay the throbbing tumult of her breast

That fluttered like a bird in meshes caught.

Christine as yet in dreamless slumber layWithin her turret-chamber; but a birdWithin the laurel singing softly stirredHer eyes to wakeful life, and from her bedShe rose and stood within the light of day,White-faced and wondering, with lifted head.As April-butterflies, new-winged for flight,That poise awhile in quivering amaze,Ere they may dare the unknown, glittering waysOf perilous airs--upon the brink of mornShe paused one moment in the showering light,In radiant ecstasy of youth forlorn.Then swift remembrance flushed her virgin snow,And wakened in her eyes the living fire;With joyous haste she drew her bright attireAbout her trembling limbs, with eager hands,Veiling her maiden beauty's morning glow,Before she looked abroad on meadowlands,Where Geoffrey rode at dawn. Across the blazeOf dandelions silvering to seed,She saw his white horse swing with easy speed;He rode with head exultant in the breezeThat lifted his brown hair. With lingering gazeShe watched him vanish down an aisle of trees;Then, swiftly gathering her dark hair in braidsAbove her slender neck, she crossed the floorWith noiseless step, unlatched the creaking door,And stole in trembling silence down the stair,Intent to reach the garden ere the maidsShould come with chattering tongues and laughter there;When by her side she heard a rustling stir:The arras parted, and before her stoodQueen Hild in proud, imperious womanhood,Looking upon her with cold, smiling eyes.In startled wonder Christine glanced at her.Then spake the Queen: "Do maids thus early riseTo tend their household duties, or to feedThe doves, relinquishing sleep's precious hoursTo see the morning dew upon the flowersAnd what frail blooms have perished 'neath the moon?To reach the Grey Nun's Walk, mayhap you speed--To count the stricken buds of lilies strewnO'ernight upon the soil by careless feetThat wandered there so late? Yea, now I know,Christine, because you flush and tremble so.Yet look you not on me with eyes that burn;I would not stay you when you go to greetThe rider of the dawn on his return.Think you I leave my bed at break of day--I, Hild the Queen--to thwart a lover's kiss?Think you my love of you could stoop to this,Though you would wed a fledgling, deedless Knight?Nay, shrink you not from me, turn not away;Because my heart has never known love's light,I fain would hear your happy tale of love,That I may prosper you and your fair youth.Will you not trust me?" Blind with love's glad truth,Christine sank down within Hild's outstretched arms.Speechless, awhile, with sobbing breath she strove;Then poured out all the tale of love's alarms,Raptures, despairs, and deathless ecstasies,In one quick torrent from her brimming heart;Then, quaking, ceased, and drew herself apart,Dismayed that she so easily had revealedTo this white, cold-eyed Queen love's sanctities.Yet Hild moved not, but stood, with hard lips sealed,Until, the chiming of the turret-bellRecalling her, she spake with far-off voice:"I, loveless, in your innocent love rejoice.May nothing stem its eager raptured course!Oh, that my barren heart could love so well,And feel the surge of love's subduing force!Yet even I from out my dearth may giveTo you, Christine. Would you that Geoffrey's nameShall shine, unchallenged, on the lists of fame?If you would have him win for you the crownOf knightly immortality, and liveTriumphant on men's tongues in high renown,Follow me now." With cold, exulting eyesShe raised the arras, opening to the lightAn unknown stair-way clambering into night.Within the caverned wall she swiftly passed.Christine for one brief moment in surpriseUncertain paused; then, wondering, followed fast.The falling arras shutting out the day,She stumbled blindly through the soaring gloom--Enclosing dank and chilly as the tombHer panting life; and unto her it seemedThat ever, as she climbed, more sheer the wayBefore her rose, and ever fainter gleamedThe wan, white star of light that overheadHovered remote. Far up the stair she heardA silken rustling as, without a word,Relentlessly Queen Hild before her spedFor ever up the ever-soaring steep.But when it almost seemed that she must fall--So loudly in her ears the pulses beat,And each step seemed to sink beneath her feet--She heard the shrilly grating of a key,And saw, above her, in the unseen wall,A dazzling square of day break suddenly.Within the lighted doorway Queen Hild turnedTo reach a helping hand, and, as she bentTo clutch the swooning maiden, well-nigh spent,And drew her to the chamber, weak and faint,Through her gold hair so rare a lustre burned,It seemed to Christine that an aureoled saintLeaned out from heaven to snatch her from the deep.Then, dizzily, she sank upon the floor,Dreaming that toil was over evermore,And she secure in Love's celestial fold;Till, waking gradually as from a sleep,Her dark eyes opened on a blaze of gold.She sat within a chamber hung aroundWith glistering tapestry, whereon a knight,Who bore a golden helm above the fight,For ever triumphed o'er assailing swords,Or led the greenwood chase with horse and hound,While far behind him lagged the dames and lordsAnd all the hunting train; till he, at length,Brought low the antlered quarry on the brinkOf some deep, craggy cleft, wherefrom did shrinkThe quailing hounds with lathered flanks aquake.As Christine looked on them, her maiden-strengthReturned to her; and now, more broad awake,She saw, within the centre of the room,A golden table whereon glittered brightA casket of wrought gold, and, in the light,Queen Hild, awaiting her, with smiling lips,And laughing words: "Is this then love's sad doom,To perish, fainting, in light's brief eclipseBetween a curtain and a closed door?Shall this bright casket ever hold, unsought,The golden helm--in elfin-ages wroughtFor some star-destined knight--because love's heartGrows faint within her? Shall the world no moreAcclaim its helmèd lord?" But, with a start,Christine arose, and swiftly forward cameWith eager eyes, and stooped with fluttering breast--Her slender, shapely hands together pressedIn tense expectancy, and all her faceWith quivering light of wondering love aflame.The Queen bent down, and in a breathing spaceUnlocked the casket with a golden key,And deftly loosed a little golden pin;The heavy lid swung open and, within,To Christine's eyes revealed the golden helm.Then spake Queen Hild, once more: "Your love-gift see!Think you that any smith in all the realmCan beat dull metal to so fair a casque?In jewelled caverns of enchantment oldThis helm was wrought of magic-tempered goldTo yieldless strength, by elfin-hammers chased,That toiled unwearied at their age-long task,And over it an unknown legend tracedIn letters of some world-forgotten tongue.At noon, with careful footing, down the stairUnto the hall the casket you must bear,When King and knight are gathered round the board,And, ere the tales be told or songs be sung,Acclaim your love the golden-helmed lord."Christine, awhile, in speechless wonderment,Hung o'er the glistering helm, and silence fellWithin the arrased chamber like a spell;While softly, on some distant, sunlit roof,The basking pigeons cooed with deep content;Till, far below, a sudden-clanging hoofStartled the morn. The women's lifted eyesOne moment met in kindred ecstasy;Then Hild, with hopeless shudder, shaking free,With strained voice spake: "Why do you longer wait?Your love returns; shall he, in sad surprise,Find no glad face to greet him at the gate?"

Christine as yet in dreamless slumber lay

Within her turret-chamber; but a bird

Within the laurel singing softly stirred

Her eyes to wakeful life, and from her bed

She rose and stood within the light of day,

White-faced and wondering, with lifted head.

As April-butterflies, new-winged for flight,

That poise awhile in quivering amaze,

Ere they may dare the unknown, glittering ways

Of perilous airs--upon the brink of morn

She paused one moment in the showering light,

In radiant ecstasy of youth forlorn.

Then swift remembrance flushed her virgin snow,

And wakened in her eyes the living fire;

With joyous haste she drew her bright attire

About her trembling limbs, with eager hands,

Veiling her maiden beauty's morning glow,

Before she looked abroad on meadowlands,

Where Geoffrey rode at dawn. Across the blaze

Of dandelions silvering to seed,

She saw his white horse swing with easy speed;

He rode with head exultant in the breeze

That lifted his brown hair. With lingering gaze

She watched him vanish down an aisle of trees;

Then, swiftly gathering her dark hair in braids

Above her slender neck, she crossed the floor

With noiseless step, unlatched the creaking door,

And stole in trembling silence down the stair,

Intent to reach the garden ere the maids

Should come with chattering tongues and laughter there;

When by her side she heard a rustling stir:

The arras parted, and before her stood

Queen Hild in proud, imperious womanhood,

Looking upon her with cold, smiling eyes.

In startled wonder Christine glanced at her.

Then spake the Queen: "Do maids thus early rise

To tend their household duties, or to feed

The doves, relinquishing sleep's precious hours

To see the morning dew upon the flowers

And what frail blooms have perished 'neath the moon?

To reach the Grey Nun's Walk, mayhap you speed--

To count the stricken buds of lilies strewn

O'ernight upon the soil by careless feet

That wandered there so late? Yea, now I know,

Christine, because you flush and tremble so.

Yet look you not on me with eyes that burn;

I would not stay you when you go to greet

The rider of the dawn on his return.

Think you I leave my bed at break of day--

I, Hild the Queen--to thwart a lover's kiss?

Think you my love of you could stoop to this,

Though you would wed a fledgling, deedless Knight?

Nay, shrink you not from me, turn not away;

Because my heart has never known love's light,

I fain would hear your happy tale of love,

That I may prosper you and your fair youth.

Will you not trust me?" Blind with love's glad truth,

Christine sank down within Hild's outstretched arms.

Speechless, awhile, with sobbing breath she strove;

Then poured out all the tale of love's alarms,

Raptures, despairs, and deathless ecstasies,

In one quick torrent from her brimming heart;

Then, quaking, ceased, and drew herself apart,

Dismayed that she so easily had revealed

To this white, cold-eyed Queen love's sanctities.

Yet Hild moved not, but stood, with hard lips sealed,

Until, the chiming of the turret-bell

Recalling her, she spake with far-off voice:

"I, loveless, in your innocent love rejoice.

May nothing stem its eager raptured course!

Oh, that my barren heart could love so well,

And feel the surge of love's subduing force!

Yet even I from out my dearth may give

To you, Christine. Would you that Geoffrey's name

Shall shine, unchallenged, on the lists of fame?

If you would have him win for you the crown

Of knightly immortality, and live

Triumphant on men's tongues in high renown,

Follow me now." With cold, exulting eyes

She raised the arras, opening to the light

An unknown stair-way clambering into night.

Within the caverned wall she swiftly passed.

Christine for one brief moment in surprise

Uncertain paused; then, wondering, followed fast.

The falling arras shutting out the day,

She stumbled blindly through the soaring gloom--

Enclosing dank and chilly as the tomb

Her panting life; and unto her it seemed

That ever, as she climbed, more sheer the way

Before her rose, and ever fainter gleamed

The wan, white star of light that overhead

Hovered remote. Far up the stair she heard

A silken rustling as, without a word,

Relentlessly Queen Hild before her sped

For ever up the ever-soaring steep.

But when it almost seemed that she must fall--

So loudly in her ears the pulses beat,

And each step seemed to sink beneath her feet--

She heard the shrilly grating of a key,

And saw, above her, in the unseen wall,

A dazzling square of day break suddenly.

Within the lighted doorway Queen Hild turned

To reach a helping hand, and, as she bent

To clutch the swooning maiden, well-nigh spent,

And drew her to the chamber, weak and faint,

Through her gold hair so rare a lustre burned,

It seemed to Christine that an aureoled saint

Leaned out from heaven to snatch her from the deep.

Then, dizzily, she sank upon the floor,

Dreaming that toil was over evermore,

And she secure in Love's celestial fold;

Till, waking gradually as from a sleep,

Her dark eyes opened on a blaze of gold.

She sat within a chamber hung around

With glistering tapestry, whereon a knight,

Who bore a golden helm above the fight,

For ever triumphed o'er assailing swords,

Or led the greenwood chase with horse and hound,

While far behind him lagged the dames and lords

And all the hunting train; till he, at length,

Brought low the antlered quarry on the brink

Of some deep, craggy cleft, wherefrom did shrink

The quailing hounds with lathered flanks aquake.

As Christine looked on them, her maiden-strength

Returned to her; and now, more broad awake,

She saw, within the centre of the room,

A golden table whereon glittered bright

A casket of wrought gold, and, in the light,

Queen Hild, awaiting her, with smiling lips,

And laughing words: "Is this then love's sad doom,

To perish, fainting, in light's brief eclipse

Between a curtain and a closed door?

Shall this bright casket ever hold, unsought,

The golden helm--in elfin-ages wrought

For some star-destined knight--because love's heart

Grows faint within her? Shall the world no more

Acclaim its helmèd lord?" But, with a start,

Christine arose, and swiftly forward came

With eager eyes, and stooped with fluttering breast--

Her slender, shapely hands together pressed

In tense expectancy, and all her face

With quivering light of wondering love aflame.

The Queen bent down, and in a breathing space

Unlocked the casket with a golden key,

And deftly loosed a little golden pin;

The heavy lid swung open and, within,

To Christine's eyes revealed the golden helm.

Then spake Queen Hild, once more: "Your love-gift see!

Think you that any smith in all the realm

Can beat dull metal to so fair a casque?

In jewelled caverns of enchantment old

This helm was wrought of magic-tempered gold

To yieldless strength, by elfin-hammers chased,

That toiled unwearied at their age-long task,

And over it an unknown legend traced

In letters of some world-forgotten tongue.

At noon, with careful footing, down the stair

Unto the hall the casket you must bear,

When King and knight are gathered round the board,

And, ere the tales be told or songs be sung,

Acclaim your love the golden-helmed lord."

Christine, awhile, in speechless wonderment,

Hung o'er the glistering helm, and silence fell

Within the arrased chamber like a spell;

While softly, on some distant, sunlit roof,

The basking pigeons cooed with deep content;

Till, far below, a sudden-clanging hoof

Startled the morn. The women's lifted eyes

One moment met in kindred ecstasy;

Then Hild, with hopeless shudder, shaking free,

With strained voice spake: "Why do you longer wait?

Your love returns; shall he, in sad surprise,

Find no glad face to greet him at the gate?"

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