Thomas Humphry Ward, ed. The English Poets. 1880–1918.rnVol. V. Browning to Rupert Brooke

Stephen Phillips (1868–1915)

The Parting of Launcelot and Guinevere

INTO a high-walled nunnery had fled

Queen Guinevere, amid the shade to weep,

And to repent ’mid solemn boughs, and love

The cold globe of the moon; but now as she

Meekly the scarcely-breathing garden walked,

She saw, and stood, and swooned at Launcelot,

Who burned in sudden steel like a blue flame

Amid the cloister. Then, when she revived,

He came and looked on her: in the dark place

So pale her beauty was, the sweetness such

That he half-closed his eyes and deeply breathed;

And as he gazed, there came into his mind

That night of May, with pulsing stars, the strange

Perfumèd darkness, and delicious guilt

In silent hour; but at the last he said:

“Suffer me, lady, but to kiss thy lips

Once, and to go away for evermore.”

But she replied, “Nay, I beseech thee, go!

Sweet were those kisses in the deep of night;

But from those kisses is this ruin come.

Sweet was thy touch, but now I wail at it,

And I have hope to see the face of Christ:

Many are saints in heaven who sinned as I.”

Then said he, “Since it is thy will, I go.”

But those that stood around could scarce endure

To see the dolour of these two; for he

Swooned in his burning armour to her face,

And both cried out as at the touch of spears:

And as two trees at midnight, when the breeze

Comes over them, now to each other bend,

And now withdraw; so mournfully these two

Still drooped together and still drew apart.

Then like one dead her ladies bore away

The heavy queen; and Launcelot went out

And through a forest weeping rode all night.