  MIDWAYS of a wallÈd garden, In the happy poplar land, Did an ancient castle stand, With an old knight for a warden. Many scarlet bricks there were In its walls, and old grey stone; Over which red apples shone At the right time of the year. On the bricks the green moss grew. Yellow lichen on the stone, Over which red apples shone; Little war that castle knew. Deep green water fill'd the moat, Each side had a red-brick lip, Green and mossy with the drip Of dew and rain; there was a boat Of carven wood, with hangings green About the stern; it was great bliss For lovers to sit there and kiss In the hot summer noons, not seen. Across the moat the fresh west wind In very little ripples went; The way the heavy aspens bent Towards it, was a thing to mind. The painted drawbridge over it Went up and down with gilded chains, 'Twas pleasant in the summer rains Within the bridge-house there to sit. There were five swans that ne'er did eat The water-weeds, for ladies came Each day, and young knights did the same, And gave them cakes and bread for meat. They had a house of painted wood, A red roof gold-spiked over it, Wherein upon their eggs to sit Week after week; no drop of blood, Drawn from men's bodies by sword-blows, Came ever there, or any tear; Most certainly from year to year 'Twas pleasant as a Provence rose. The banners seem'd quite full of ease, That over the turret-roofs hung down; The battlements could get no frown From the flower-moulded cornices. Who walked in that garden there? Miles and Giles and Isabeau, Tall Jehane du Castel beau, Alice of the golden hair, Big Sir Gervaise, the good knight, Fair Ellayne le Violet, Mary, Constance fille de fay, Many dames with footfall light. Whosoever wander'd there, Whether it be dame or knight, Half of scarlet, half of white Their raiment was; of roses fair Each wore a garland on the head, At Ladies' Gard the way was so: Fair Jehane du Castel beau Wore her wreath till it was dead. Little joy she had of it, Of the raiment white and red, Or the garland on her head, She had none with whom to sit In the carven boat at noon; None the more did Jehane weep, She would only stand and keep Saying: He will be here soon! Many times in the long day Miles and Giles and Gervaise passed, Holding each some white hand fast, Every time they heard her say: Summer cometh to an end, Undern cometh after noon; Golden wings will be here soon, What if I some token send? Wherefore that night within the hall, With open mouth and open eyes, Like some one listening with surprise, She sat before the sight of all. Stoop'd down a little she sat there, With neck stretch'd out and chin thrown up, One hand around a golden cup; And strangely with her fingers fair She beat some tune upon the gold; The minstrels in the gallery Sung: Arthur, who will never die, In Avallon he groweth old. And when the song was ended, she Rose and caught up her gown and ran; None stopp'd her eager face and wan Of all that pleasant company. Right so within her own chamber Upon her bed she sat; and drew Her breath in quick gasps; till she knew That no man follow'd after her. She took the garland from her head, Loosed all her hair, and let it lie Upon the coverlet; thereby She laid the gown of white and red; And she took off her scarlet shoon, And bared her feet; still more and more Her sweet face redden'd; evermore She murmur'd: He will be here soon; Truly he cannot fail to know My tender body waits him here; And if he knows, I have no fear For poor Jehane du Castel beau. She took a sword within her hand, Whose hilts were silver, and she sung Somehow like this, wild words that rung A long way over the moonlit land: Gold wings across the sea! Grey light from tree to tree, Gold hair beside my knee, I pray thee come to me, Gold wings! The water slips, The red-bill'd moorhen dips. Sweet kisses on red lips; Alas! the red rust grips, And the blood-red dagger rips, Yet, O knight, come to me! Are not my blue eyes sweet? The west wind from the wheat Blows cold across my feet; Is it not time to meet |
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