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So fast, that, if this very hour
80 And everything were settled : red Grew Godmar's face from chin to head :
Jehane, on yonder hill there stands My castle, guarding well my lands : What hinders me from taking you,
85 And doing that I list to do To your fair wilful body, while Your knight lies dead ?:
A wicked smile Wrinkled her face, her lips grew thin, A long way out she thrust her chin : 90
You know that I should strangle you While you were sleeping ; or bite through Your throat, by God's help-ah !' she said, • Lord Jesus, pity your poor maid ! For in such wise they hem me in,
95 I cannot choose but sin and sin, Whatever happens : yet I think They could not make me eat or drink, And so should I just reach my rest.” • Nay, if you do not my behest,
100 O Jehane ! though I love you well,' Said Godmar, 'would I fail to tell All that I know ?! • Foul lies,' she said. • Eh ? lies, my Jehane ? by God's head, At Paris folks would deem them true ! 105 Do you know, Jehane, they cry for you,
66 Jehane the brown ! Jehane the brown !
115 Of life or deatn !'
So, scarce awake, Dismounting, did she leave that place, And totter some yards : with her face Turn'd upward to the sky she lay, Her head on a wet heap of hay,
120 And fell asleep : and while she slept, And did not dream, the minutes crept Round to the twelve again ; but she, Being waked at last, sigh'd quietly, And strangely childlike came, and said : 125 I will not. Straightway Godmar's head, As though it hung on strong wires, turn'd Most sharply round, and his face burn'd. For Robert—both his eyes were dry, He could not weep, but gloomily
130 He seem'd to watch the rain ; yea, too, His lips were firm ; he tried once more To touch her lips ; she reach'd out, sore And vain desire so tortured them, The poor grey lips, and now the hem 135 Of his sleeve brush'd them.
With a start Up Godmar rose, thrust them apart ; From Robert's throat he loosed the bands Of silk and mail ; with empty hands Held out, she stood and gazed, and saw 140 The long bright blade without a flaw Glide out from Godmar's sheath, his hand
In Robert's hair ; she saw him bend
So, Jehane, the first fitte is read !
SUMMER DAWN Pray but one prayer for me 'twixt thy closed lips,
Think but one thought of me up in the stars. The summer night waneth, the morning light slips, Faint and grey 'twixt the leaves of the aspen,
betwixt the cloud-bars, That are patiently waiting there for the dawn : 5
Patient and colourless, though Heaven's gold Waits to float through them along with the sun. Far out in the meadows, above the young corn,
The heavy elms wait, and restless and cold
Speak but one word to me over the corn,
As we rush, as we rush in the train,
The trees and the houses go wheeling back,
Come flying on our track.
5 The silver doves of the forest of Night, Over the dull earth swarm and fly,
Companions of our flight.
Let the goal be far, the flight be fleet !
A thousand summers are over and dead. What hast thou found in the spring to follow ? What hast thou found in thine heart to sing ?
What wilt thou do when the summer is shed ? O swallow, sister, O fair swift swallow,
7 Why wilt thou fly after spring to the south,
The soft south whither thine heart is set ? Shall not the grief of the old time follow ? Shall not the song thereof cleave to thy mouth ? Hast thou forgotten ere I forget ?
12 Sister, my sister, O fleet sweet swallow, Thy way is long to the sun and the south ; But I, fulfilled of my heart's desire,
15 Shedding my song upon height, upon hollow, From tawny body and sweet small mouth
Feed the heart of the night with fire.
I the nightingale all spring through,
All spring through till the spring be done, Clothed with the light of the night on the dew, Sing, while the hours and the wild birds follow,
Take flight and follow and find the sun. Sister, my sister, O soft light swallow,
25 Though all things feast in the spring's guest
How hast thou heart to be glad thereof yet ? For where thou fliest I shall not follow, Till life forget and death remember, Till thou remember and I forget.
30 Swallow, my sister, O singing swallow, I know not how thou hast heart to sing.
Hast thou the heart? is it all past over ? Thy lord the summer is good to follow, Ănd fair the feet of thy lover the spring : 35
But what wilt thou say to the spring thy lover? O swallow, sister, O fleeting swallow, My heart in me is a molten ember
And over my head the waves have met. But thou wouldst tarry or I would follow, 40 Could I forget or thou remember,
Couldst thou remember and I forget. O sweet stray sister, O shifting swallow, The heart's division divideth us.
Thy heart is light as a leaf of a tree ; 45
The feast of Daulis, the Thracian sea.
Can I remember if thou forget ?