Joyeuse Garde

The sun was heavy; no more shade at all     Than you might cover with a hollow cup     There was in the south chamber; wall by wall,     Slowly the hot noon filled the castle up.     One hand among the rushes, one let play     Where the loose gold began to swerve and droop     From his fair mantle to the floor, she lay;     Her face held up a little, for delight     To feel his eyes upon it, one would say.     Her grave shut lips were glad to be in sight     Of Tristram's kisses; she had often turned     Against her shifted pillows in the night     To lessen the sore pain wherein they burned     For want of Tristram; her great eyes had grown     Less keen and sudden, and a hunger yearned     Her sick face through, these wretched years agone.     Her eyes said "Tristram" now, but her lips held     The joy too close for any smile or moan     To move them; she was patiently fulfilled     With a slow pleasure that slid everwise     Even into hands and feet, but could not build     The house of its abiding in her eyes,     Nor measure any music by her speech.     Between the sunlight came a noise of flies     To pain sleep from her, thick from peach to peach     Upon the bare wall's hot red level, close     Among the leaves too high for her to reach.     So she drew in and set her feet, and rose     Saying "Too late to sleep; I pray you speak     To save me from the noises, lest I lose     Some minute of this season; I am weak     And cannot answer if you help me not,     When the shame catches on my brow and cheek."     For in the speaking all her face grew hot,     And her mouth altered with some pain, I deem     Because her word had stung like a bad thought     That makes us recollect some bitter dream.     She bowed to let him kiss her, and went on:     "All things are changed so, will this day not seem     Most sad and evil when I sit alone     Outside your eyes? will it not vex my prayer     To think of laughter that is twin to moan,     And happy words that make not holier?     Nathless I had good will to say one thing,     Though it seems pleasant in the late warm air     To ride alone and see the last of spring.     I cannot lose you, Tristram; (a weak smile     Moved her lips and went out) men say the king     Hath set keen spies about for many a mile,     Quick hands to get them gold, sharp eyes to see     Where your way swerves across them. This long while     Hath Mark grown older with his hate of me,     And now his hand for lust to smite at us     Plucks the white hairs inside his beard that he     This year made thicker. Seeing this he does     I pray you note that we may meet with him     At riding through the branches growth, and then     Our wine grow bitter at the golden rim     And taste of blood and tears, not sweet to drink     As this new honey wherein juices swim     Of fair red vintage."     Her voice done, I think     He had no heart to answer; yet some time     The noon outside them seem to throb and sink,     Wrought in the quiet to a rounded rhyme.     Then "certes," said he, "this were harm to both     If spears grew thick between the beech and lime,     Or amid reeds that let the river south,     Yet so I think you might get help of me.     Had I not heart to smile, when Iseult's mouth     Kissed Palomydes under a thick tree?     For I remember, as the wind sets low,     How all that peril ended quietly     In a green place where heavy sunflowers blow."