| LANCELOT looked about him, but he saw | |
| No Guinevere. The place where she had sat | |
| Was now an empty chair that might have been | 580 |
| The shadowy throne of an abandoned world, | |
| But for the living fragrance of a kiss | |
| That he remembered, and a living voice | |
| That hovered when he saw that she was gone. | |
| There was too much remembering while he felt | 585 |
| Upon his cheek the warm sound of her words; | |
| There was too much regret; there was too much | |
| Remorse. Regret was there for what had gone, | |
| Remorse for what had come. Yet there was time, | |
| That had not wholly come. There was time enough | 590 |
| Between him and the night—as there were shoals | |
| Enough, no doubt, that in the sea somewhere | |
| Were not yet hidden by the drowning tide. | |
| “So there is here between me and the dark | |
| Some twilight left,” he said. He sighed, and said | 595 |
| Again, “Time, tide, and twilight—and the dark; | |
| And then, for me, the Light. But what for her? | |
| I do not think of anything but life | |
| That I may give to her by going now; | |
| And if I look into her eyes again, | 600 |
| Or feel her breath upon my face again, | |
| God knows if I may give so much as life; | |
| Or if the durance of her loneliness | |
| Would have it for the asking. What am I? | |
| What have I seen that I must leave behind | 605 |
| So much of heaven and earth to burn itself | |
| Away in white and gold, until in time | |
| There shall be no more white and no more gold? | |
| I cannot think of such a time as that; | |
| I cannot—yet I must; for I am he | 610 |
| That shall have hastened it and hurried on | |
| To dissolution all that wonderment— | |
| That envy of all women who have said | |
| She was a child of ice and ivory; | |
| And of all men, save one. And who is he? | 615 |
| Who is this Lancelot that has betrayed | |
| His King, and served him with a cankered honor? | |
| Who is this Lancelot that sees the Light | |
| And waits now in the shadow for the dark? | |
| Who is this King, this Arthur, who believes | 620 |
| That what has been, and is, will be for ever,— | |
| Who has no eyes for what he will not see, | |
| And will see nothing but what’s passing here | |
| In Camelot, which is passing? Why are we here? | |
| What are we doing—kings, queens, Camelots, | 625 |
| And Lancelots? And what is this dim world | |
| That I would leave, and cannot leave tonight | |
| Because a Queen is in it and a King | |
| Has gone away to some place where there’s hunting— | |
| Carleon or Carlisle! Who is this Queen, | 630 |
| This pale witch-wonder of white fire and gold, | |
| This Guinevere that I brought back with me | |
| From Cameliard for Arthur, who knew then | |
| What Merlin told, as he forgets it now | |
| And rides away from her—God watch the world!— | 635 |
| To some place where there’s hunting! What are kings? | |
| And how much longer are there to be kings? | |
| When are the millions who are now like worms | |
| To know that kings are worms, if they are worms? | |
| When are the women who make toys of men | 640 |
| To know that they themselves are less than toys | |
| When Time has laid upon their skins the touch | |
| Of his all-shrivelling fingers? When are they | |
| To know that men must have an end of them | |
| When men have seen the Light and left the world | 645 |
| That I am leaving now. Yet, here I am, | |
| And all because a king has gone a-hunting…. | |
| Carleon or Carlisle!” | |
| |
| So Lancelot | |
| Fed with a sullen rancor, which he knew | 650 |
| To be as false as he was to the King, | |
| The passion and the fear that now in him | |
| Were burning like two slow infernal fires | |
| That only flight and exile far away | |
| From Camelot should ever cool again. | 655 |
| “Yet here I am,” he said,—“and here I am. | |
| Time, tide, and twilight; and there is no twilight— | |
| And there is not much time. But there’s enough | |
| To eat and drink in; and there may be time | |
| For me to frame a jest or two to prove | 660 |
| How merry a man may be who sees the Light. | |
| And I must get me up and go along, | |
| Before the shadows blot out everything, | |
| And leave me stumbling among skeletons. | |
| God, what a rain of ashes falls on him | 665 |
| Who sees the new and cannot leave the old!” | |
| |
| He rose and looked away into the south | |
| Where a gate was, by which he might go out, | |
| Now, if he would, while Time was yet there with him— | |
| Time that was tearing minutes out of life | 670 |
| While he stood shivering in his loneliness, | |
| And while the silver lights of memory | |
| Shone faintly on a far-off eastern shore | |
| Where he had seen on earth for the last time | |
| The triumph and the sadness in the face | 675 |
| Of Galahad, for whom the Light was waiting. | |
| Now he could see the face of him again, | |
| He fancied; and his flickering will adjured him | |
| To follow it and be free. He followed it | |
| Until it faded and there was no face, | 680 |
| And there was no more light. Yet there was time | |
| That had not come, though he could hear it now | |
| Like ruining feet of marching conquerors | |
| That would be coming soon and were not men. | |
| Forlornly and unwillingly he came back | 685 |
| To find the two dim chairs. In one of them | |
| Was Guinevere, and on her phantom face | |
| There fell a golden light that might have been | |
| The changing gleam of an unchanging gold | |
| That was her golden hair. He sprang to touch | 690 |
| The wonder of it, but she too was gone, | |
| Like Galahad; he was alone again | |
| With shadows, and one face that he still saw. | |
| The world had no more faces now than one | |
| That for a moment, with a flash of pain, | 695 |
| Had shown him what it is that may be seen | |
| In embers that break slowly into dust, | |
| Where for a time was fire. He saw it there | |
| Before him, and he knew it was not good | |
| That he should learn so late, and of this hour, | 700 |
| What men may leave behind them in the eyes | |
| Of women who have nothing more to give, | |
| And may not follow after. Once again | |
| He gazed away to southward, but the face | |
| Of Galahad was not there. He turned, and saw | 705 |
| Before him, in the distance, many lights | |
| In Arthur’s palace; for the dark had come | |
| To Camelot, while Time had come and gone. | |
