GOLDEN WINGS

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
Gold wings across the sea?

White swans on the green moat,
Small feathers left afloat
By the blue-painted boat;
Swift running of the stoat,
Sweet gurgling note by note
Of sweet music.

O gold wings,

Listen how gold hair sings,
And the Ladies' Castle rings,
Gold wings across the sea.

I sit on a purple bed,

Outside, the wall is red,

Thereby the apple hangs,

And the wasp, caught by the fangs,