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Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems

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<hr style="width: 65%;" />[Pg 169] <h2>THE JUDGMENT OF GOD</h2> <div class="cpoem30"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> SWERVE to the left, son Roger, he said, When you catch his eyes through the helmet-slit, Swerve to the left, then out at his head, And the Lord God give you joy of it! </div> <div class="stanza"> The blue owls on my father's hood Were a little dimm'd as I turn'd away; This giving up of blood for blood Will finish here somehow to-day. </div> <div class="stanza"> So, when I walk'd out from the tent, Their howling almost blinded me; Yet for all that I was not bent By any shame. Hard by, the sea [Pg 170]</div> <div class="stanza"> Made a noise like the aspens where We did that wrong, but now the place Is very pleasant, and the air Blows cool on any passer's face. </div> <div class="stanza"> And all the wrong is gather'd now Into the circle of these lists: Yea, howl out, butchers! tell me how His hands were cut off at the wrists; </div> <div class="stanza"> And how Lord Roger bore his face A league above his spear-point, high Above the owls, to that strong place Among the waters; yea, yea, cry: </div> <div class="stanza"> What a brave champion we have got! Sir Oliver, the flower of all The Hainault knights! The day being hot, He sat beneath a broad white pall, </div> <div class="stanza"> White linen over all his steel; What a good knight he look'd! his sword Laid thwart his knees; he liked to feel Its steadfast edge clear as his word. [Pg 171]</div> <div class="stanza"> And he look'd solemn; how his love Smiled whitely on him, sick with fear! How all the ladies up above Twisted their pretty hands! so near </div> <div class="stanza"> The fighting was: Ellayne! Ellayne! They cannot love like you can, who Would burn your hands off, if that pain Could win a kiss; am I not true </div> <div class="stanza"> To you for ever? therefore I Do not fear death or anything; If I should limp home wounded, why, While I lay sick you would but sing, </div> <div class="stanza"> And soothe me into quiet sleep. If they spat on the recreant knight, Threw stones at him, and cursed him deep, Why then: what then? your hand would light </div> <div class="stanza"> So gently on his drawn-up face, And you would kiss him, and in soft Cool scented clothes would lap him, pace The quiet room and weep oft, oft [Pg 172]</div> <div class="stanza"> Would turn and smile, and brush his cheek With your sweet chin and mouth; and in The order'd garden you would seek The biggest roses: any sin. </div> <div class="stanza"> And these say: No more now my knight, Or God's knight any longer: you, Being than they so much more white, So much more pure and good and true, </div> <div class="stanza"> Will cling to me for ever; there, Is not that wrong turn'd right at last Through all these years, and I wash'd clean? Say, yea, Ellayne; the time is past, </div> <div class="stanza"> Since on that Christmas-day last year Up to your feet the fire crept, And the smoke through the brown leaves sere Blinded your dear eyes that you wept; </div> <div class="stanza"> Was it not I that caught you then, And kiss'd you on the saddle-bow? Did not the blue owl mark the men Whose spears stood like the corn a-row? [Pg 173]</div> <div class="stanza"> This Oliver is a right good knight, And must needs beat me, as I fear, Unless I catch him in the fight, My father's crafty way: John, here! </div> <div class="stanza"> Bring up the men from the south gate, To help me if I fall or win, For even if I beat, their hate Will grow to more than this mere grin. </div> </div></div> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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