I saw you kissing once, like a curved sword That bites with all its edge, did your lips lie,

Curled gently, slowly, long time could afford

For caught-up breathings; like a dying sigh

They gather'd up their lines and went

away.

And still kept twitching with a sort of smile,

As likely to be weeping presently,

Your hands too-how I watch'd them all the while!

'Cry out St. Peter now,' quoth Aldovrand; I cried, 'St. Peter,' broke out from the wood

With all my spears; we met them hand to hand,

And shortly slew them; natheless, by the rood,

We caught not Blackhead then, or any day;

Months after that he died at last in bed, From a wound pick'd up at a barrier-fray; That same year's end a steel bolt in the head,

And much bad living kill'd Teste Noire at last;

John Froissart knoweth he is dead by

He gazed at the great fire awhile:

And you are getting old, Sir John;' (He said this with that cunning smile That was most sad;) 'we both wear on, 'Knights come to court and look at me, With eyebrows up, except my lord, And my dear lady, none I see

That know the ways of my old sword.' (My lady at that word no pang Stopp'd all my blood.) 'But tell me, John,

Is it quite true that pagans hang So thick about the east, that on 'The eastern sea no Venice flag

Can fly unpaid for?' 'True,' I said, 'And in such way the miscreants drag Christ's cross upon the ground, I dread 'That Constantine must fall this year.' Within my heart; These things are small;

This is not small, that things outwear

I thought were made for ever, yea, all,

'All things go soon or late;' I said

I saw the duke in court next day; Just as before, his grand great head Above his gold robes dreaming lay,

Only his face was paler; there

I saw his duchess sit by him; And she she was changed more; her hair Before my eyes that used to swim,

And make me dizzy with great bliss
Once, when I used to watch her sit-
Her hair is bright still, yet it is
As though some dust were thrown on it.

Her eyes are shallower, as though
Some grey glass were behind; her brow
And cheeks the straining bones show
through,

Are not so good for kissing now.

Her lips are drier now she is

A great duke's wife these many years, They will not shudder with a kiss

As once they did, being moist with tears. Also her hands have lost that way Of clinging that they used to have; They look'd quite easy, as they lay Upon the silken cushions brave With broidery of the apples green

My Lord Duke bears upon his shield. Her face, alas! that I have seen Look fresher than an April field, This is all gone now; gone also Her tender walking; when she walks She is most queenly I well know, And she is fair still: -as the stalks

Of faded summer-lilies are,

So is she grown now unto me This spring-time, when the flowers star The meadows, birds sing wonderfully.

I warrant once she used to cling

About his neck, and kiss'd him so, And then his coming step would ring Joy-bells for her, some time ago. Ah! sometimes like an idle dream

That hinders true life overmuch, Sometimes like a lost heaven, these seem. This love is not so hard to smutch.

THE GILLIFLOWER OF GOLD
[1858.]

A GOLDEN gilliflower to-day
I wore upon my helm alway,
And won the prize of this tourney.
Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée.
However well Sir Giles might sit,
His sun was weak to wither it,
Lord Miles's blood was dew on it:

Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée.
Although my spear in splinters flew,
From John's steel-coat my eye was true;
I wheel'd about, and cried for you,

Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée.

Yea, do not doubt my heart was good, Though my sword flew like rotten wood, To shout, although I scarcely stood,

Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée. My hand was steady too, to take My axe from round my neck, and break John's steel-coat up for my love's sake. Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée. When I stood in my tent again, Arming afresh, I felt a pain Take hold of me, I was so fain

Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée.

To hear: 'Honneur aux fils des preux!'
Right in my ears again, and shew
The gilliflower blossom'd new.

Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée.
The Sieur Guillaume against me came,
His tabard bore three points of flame
From a red heart: with little blame -
Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée.

Our tough spears crackled up like straw;
He was the first to turn and draw
His sword, that had nor speck nor flaw, -
Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée.

But I felt weaker than a maid,
And my brain, dizzied and afraid,
Within my helm a fierce tune play'd, -
Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée.

Until I thought of your dear head,
Bow'd to the gilliflower bed,
The yellow flowers stain'd with red;

Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée.

Crash! how the swords met, 'giroflée!' The fierce tune in my helm would play, 'La belle! la belle! jaune giroflée!"

Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée.

Once more the great swords met again, 'La belle! la belle!' but who fell then? Le Sieur Guillaume, who struck down ten;

Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée.

And as with mazed and unarm'd face, Toward my own crown and the Queen's place,

They led me at a gentle pace

Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée.

I almost saw your quiet head
Bow'd o'er the gilliflower bed,
The yellow flowers stain'd with red-
Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée.

SHAMEFUL DEATH

[1858.]

THERE were four of us about that bed;
The mass-priest knelt at the side,

I and his mother stood at the head,
Over his feet lay the bride;
We were quite sure that he was dead,
Though his eyes were open wide.

He did not die in the night,

He did not die in the day, But in the morning twilight His spirit pass'd away,

When neither sun nor moon was bright,
And the trees were merely grey.

He was not slain with the sword,
Knight's axe, or the knightly spear,
Yet spoke he never a word

After he came in here;

I cut away the cord

From the neck of my brother dear.

He did not strike one blow,

For the recreants came behind,
In a place where the hornbeams grow,
A path right hard to find,
For the hornbeam boughs swing so,
That the twilight makes it blind.

They lighted a great torch then,
When his arms were pinion'd fast,
Sir John the knight of the Fen,
Sir Guy of the Dolorous Blast,
With knights threescore and ten,
Hung brave Lord Hugh at last.

I am threescore and ten,

And my hair is all turn'd grey, But I met Sir John of the Fen

Long ago on a summer day,

And am glad to think of the moment when I took his life away.

I am threescore and ten,

And my strength is mostly pass'd,

But long ago and my men,

When the sky was overcast,

And the smoke roll'd over the reeds of the fen,

Slew Guy of the Dolorous Blast.

And now, knights all of you,

I pray you pray for Sir Hugh, A good knight and a true,

And for Alice, his wife, pray too.

THE SAILING OF THE SWORD
[1858.]

ACROSS the empty garden-beds,
When the Sword went out to sea,
I scarcely saw my sisters' heads

Bowed each beside a tree.

I could not see the castle leads,
When the Sword went out to sea.

Alicia wore a scarlet gown,

When the Sword went out to sea, But Ursula's was russet brown:

For the mist we could not see The scarlet roofs of the good town, When the Sword went out to sea.

Green holly in Alicia's hand,

When the Sword went out to sea;
With sere oak-leaves did Ursula stand;
O! yet alas for me!

I did but bear a peel'd white wand,
When the Sword went out to sea.

O, russet brown and scarlet bright,

When the Sword went out to sea, My sisters wore; I wore but white:

Red, brown, and white, are three; Three damozels; each had a knight,

When the Sword went out to sea.

Sir Robert shouted loud, and said, When the Sword went out to sea, 'Alicia, while I see thy head,

What shall I bring for thee?' 'O, my sweet lord, a ruby red:'

The Sword went out to sea.

Sir Miles said, while the sails hung down, When the Sword went out to sea, 'Oh, Ursula! while I see the town, What shall I bring for thee?' 'Dear knight, bring back a falcon brown :' The Sword went out to sea.

But my Roland, no word he said When the Sword went out to sea, But only turn'd away his head, A quick shriek came from me: 'Come back, dear lord, to your white maid;'

The Sword went out to sea.

The hot sun bit the garden-beds,
When the Sword came back from sea;
Beneath an apple-tree our heads

Stretched out toward the sea;

Grey gleam'd the thirsty castle-leads, When the Sword came back from sea. Lord Robert brought a ruby red,

When the Sword came back from sea; He kissed Alicia on the head:

'I am come back to thee;

'Tis time, sweet love, that we were wed, Now the Sword is back from sea!'

Sir Miles he bore a falcon brown,
When the Sword came back from sea;
His arms went round tall Ursula's gown,-
'What joy, O love, but thee?

Let us be wed in the good town,

Now the Sword is back from sea!' My heart grew sick, no more afraid, When the Sword came back from sea; Upon the deck a tall white maid

Sat on Lord Roland's knee; His chin was press'd upon her head, When the Sword came back from sea!

THE WIND [1858.]

Ан! no, no, it is nothing, surely nothing at all,

Only the wild-going wind round by the garden-wall,

For the dawn just now is breaking, the

wind beginning to fall.

Wind, wind! thou art sad, art thou kind? Wind, wind, unhappy! thou art blind, Yet still thou wanderest the lily-seed to find.

So I will sit, and think and think of the days gone by,

Never moving my chair for fear the dogs should cry,

Making no noise at all while the flambeau

burns awry.

For my chair is heavy and carved, and with sweeping green behind

It is hung, and the dragons thereon grin out in the gusts of the wind; On its folds an orange lies, with a deep gash cut in the rind.

Wind, wind! thou art sad, art thou kind? Wind, wind, unhappy! thou art blind, Yet still thou wanderest the lily-seed to find.

If I move my chair it will scream, and the

orange will roll out far,

And the faint yellow juice ooze out like blood from a wizard's jar;

And the dogs will howl for those who went last month to the war.

Wind, wind! thou art sad, art thou kind? Wind, wind, unhappy! thou art blind, Yet still thou wanderest the lily-seed to find.

So I will sit and think of love that is over and past,

O! so long ago—yes, I will be quiet at last;

Whether I like it or not, a grim half-slumber is cast

Over my worn old brains, that touches the roots of my heart,

And above my half-shut eyes the blue roof

'gins to part,

And show the blue spring sky, till I am ready to start

From out of the green-hung chair; but

something keeps me still,

And I fall in a dream that I walk'd with her on the side of a hill, Dotted for was it not spring? - with tufts of the daffodil.

Wind, wind! thou art sad, art thou kind? Wind, wind, unhappy! thou art blind, Yet still thou wanderest the lily-seed to find.

And Margaret as she walk'd held a painted book in her hand;

Her finger kept the place; I caught her, we both did stand

Face to face, on the top of the highest hill in the land.

Wind, wind! thou art sad, art thou kind? Wind, wind, unhappy! thou art blind, Yet still thou wanderest the lily-seed to find.

I held to her long bare arms, but she shudder'd away from me,

While the flush went out of her face as her head fell back on a tree, And a spasm caught her mouth, fearful for me to see;

And still I held to her arms till her shoulder touch'd my mail,

Weeping she totter'd forward, so glad that I should prevail,

And her hair went over my robe, like a gold flag over a sail.

Wind, wind! thou art sad, art thou kind? Wind, wind, unhappy! thou art blind, Yet still thou wanderest the lily-seed to find.

I kiss'd her hard by the ear, and she kiss'd me on the brow,

And then lay down on the grass, where the mark on the moss is now,

And spread her arms out wide while I went down below.

Wind, wind! thou art sad, art thou kind? Wind, wind, unhappy! thou art blind, Yet still thou wanderest the lily-seed to find.

And then I walk'd for a space to and fro on the side of the hill,

Till I gather'd and held in my arms great sheaves of the daffodil,

And when I came again my Margaret lay there still.

I piled them high and high above her heaving breast,

How they were caught and held in her loose ungirded vest!

But one beneath her arm died, happy so to be prest!

Wind, wind! thou art sad, art thou kind? Wind, wind, unhappy! thou art blind, Yet still thou wanderest the lily-seed to find.

Again I turn'd my back and went away for an hour;

She said no word when I came again, so, flower by flower,

I counted the daffodils over, and cast them languidly lower.

Wind, wind! thou art sad, art thou kind? Wind, wind, unhappy! thou art blind, Yet still thou wanderest the lily-seed to find.

My dry hands shook and shook as the green gown show'd again,

Clear'd from the yellow flowers, and I grew hollow with pain,

And on to us both there fell from the

sun-shower drops of rain.

Wind, wind! thou art sid, art thou kind? Wind, wind, unhappy! thou art blind, Yet still thou wanderest the lily-seed to find.

Alas! alas! there was blood on the very quiet breast,

Blood lay in the many folds of the loose ungirded vest,

Blood lay upon her arm where the flower had been prest.

I shriek'd and leapt from my chair, and the orange roll'd out far,

The faint yellow juice oozed out like blood from a wizard's jar;

And then in march'd the ghosts of those that had gone to the war.

I knew them by the arms that I was used to paint

Upon their long thin shields; but the colours were all grown faint,

And faint upon their banner was Olaf, king and saint.

Wind, wind! thou art sad, art thou kind? Wind, wind, unhappy! thou art blind, Yet still thou wanderest the lily-seed to find.

THE BLUE CLOSET

[1858.]

THE DAMOZELS

LADY ALICE, Lady Louise,

Between the wash of the tumbling seas
We are ready to sing, if so ye please;
So lay your long hands on the keys;
Sing, 'Laudate pueri.'

And ever the great bell overhead
Boom'd in the wind a knell for the dead,
Though no one toll'd it, a knell for the
dead.

LADY LOUISE

Sister, let the measure swell

Not too loud; for you sing not well
If you drown the faint boom of the bell;
He is weary, so am I.

And ever the chevron overhead
Flapp'd on the banner of the dead;
(Was he asleep, or was he dead?)

LADY ALICE

Alice the Queen, and Louise the Queen,
Two damozels wearing purple and green,
Four lone ladies dwelling here
From day to day and year to year;
And there is none to let us go;
To break the locks of the doors below,
Or shovel away the heaped-up snow;
And when we die no man will know
That we are dead; but they give us leave,
Once every year on Christmas-eve,
To sing in the Closet Blue one song;
And we should be so long, so long,
If we dared, in singing; for dream on
dream,

They float on in a happy stream;

Float from the gold strings, float from the keys,

Float from the open'd lips of Louise;
But, alas! the sea-salt oozes through
The chinks of the tiles of the Closet Blue;
And ever the great bell overhead
Booms in the wind a knell for the dead,
The wind plays on it a knell for the dead.

[They sing all together]

How long ago was it, how long ago, He came to this tower with hands full of snow?

'Kneel down, O love Louise, kneel down,' he said,

And sprinkled the dusty snow over my head.

He watch'd the snow melting, it ran through my hair,

Ran over my shoulders, white shoulders and bare.

'I cannot weep for thee, poor love Louise, For my tears are all hidden deep under the seas;

'In a gold and blue casket she keeps all my tears,

But my eyes are no longer blue, as in old years;

'Yea, they grow grey with time, grow small and dr.,

I am so feeble now, would I might die.'
And in truth the great bell overhead
Left off his pealing for the dead,
Perchance, because the wind was dead.
Will he come back again, or is he dead?
O! is he sleeping, my scarf round his head?

Or did they strangle him as he lay there,
With the long scarlet scarf I used to wear?

Only I pray thee, Lord, let him come here! Both his soul and his body to me are most dear.

Dear Lord, that loves me, I wait to receive Either body or spirit this wild Christmas

eve.

Through the floor shot up a lily red,

With a patch of earth from the land of the dead,

For he was strong in the land of the dead.
What matter that his cheeks were pale,
His kind kiss'd lips all grey?
'O, love Louise, have you waited long?'
'O, my lord Arthur, yea.'

What if his hair that brush'd her cheek
Was stiff with frozen rime?

His eyes were grown quite blue again,
As in the happy time.

'O, love Louise, this is the key

Of the happy golden land!
O, sisters, cross the bridge with me,
My eyes are full of sand.
What matter that I cannot see,
If ye take me by the hand?'

And ever the great bell overhead,
And the tumbling seas mourn'd for the
dead;

For their song ceased, and they were dead.