So shook him that he could not rest,but rode Ere midnight to her walls,and bound his horse Hard by the gates.Wide open were the gates,And no watch kept;and in through these he past,And heard but his own steps,and his own heart Beating,for nothing moved but his own self,And his own shadow.Then he crost the court,And spied not any light in hall or bower,But saw the postern portal also wide Yawning;and up a slope of garden,all Of roses white and red,and brambles mixt And overgrowing them,went on,and found,Here too,all hushed below the mellow moon,Save that one rivulet from a tiny cave Came lightening downward,and so spilt itself Among the roses,and was lost again.
Then was he ware of three pavilions reared Above the bushes,gilden-peakt:in one,Red after revel,droned her lurdane knights Slumbering,and their three squires across their feet:
In one,their malice on the placid lip Frozen by sweet sleep,four of her damsels lay:
And in the third,the circlet of the jousts Bound on her brow,were Gawain and Ettarre.
Back,as a hand that pushes through the leaf To find a nest and feels a snake,he drew:
Back,as a coward slinks from what he fears To cope with,or a traitor proven,or hound Beaten,did Pelleas in an utter shame Creep with his shadow through the court again,Fingering at his sword-handle until he stood There on the castle-bridge once more,and thought,'I will go back,and slay them where they lie.'
And so went back,and seeing them yet in sleep Said,'Ye,that so dishallow the holy sleep,Your sleep is death,'and drew the sword,and thought,'What!slay a sleeping knight?the King hath bound And sworn me to this brotherhood;'again,'Alas that ever a knight should be so false.'
Then turned,and so returned,and groaning laid The naked sword athwart their naked throats,There left it,and them sleeping;and she lay,The circlet of her tourney round her brows,And the sword of the tourney across her throat.
And forth he past,and mounting on his horse Stared at her towers that,larger than themselves In their own darkness,thronged into the moon.
Then crushed the saddle with his thighs,and clenched His hands,and maddened with himself and moaned:
'Would they have risen against me in their blood At the last day?I might have answered them Even before high God.O towers so strong,Huge,solid,would that even while I gaze The crack of earthquake shivering to your base Split you,and Hell burst up your harlot roofs Bellowing,and charred you through and through within,Black as the harlot's heart--hollow as a skull!
Let the fierce east scream through your eyelet-holes,And whirl the dust of harlots round and round In dung and nettles!hiss,snake--I saw him there--Let the fox bark,let the wolf yell.Who yells Here in the still sweet summer night,but I--I,the poor Pelleas whom she called her fool?
Fool,beast--he,she,or I?myself most fool;Beast too,as lacking human wit--disgraced,Dishonoured all for trial of true love--Love?--we be all alike:only the King Hath made us fools and liars.O noble vows!
O great and sane and simple race of brutes That own no lust because they have no law!
For why should I have loved her to my shame?
I loathe her,as I loved her to my shame.
I never loved her,I but lusted for her--
Away--'
He dashed the rowel into his horse,And bounded forth and vanished through the night.
Then she,that felt the cold touch on her throat,Awaking knew the sword,and turned herself To Gawain:'Liar,for thou hast not slain This Pelleas!here he stood,and might have slain Me and thyself.'And he that tells the tale Says that her ever-veering fancy turned To Pelleas,as the one true knight on earth,And only lover;and through her love her life Wasted and pined,desiring him in vain.
But he by wild and way,for half the night,And over hard and soft,striking the sod From out the soft,the spark from off the hard,Rode till the star above the wakening sun,Beside that tower where Percivale was cowled,Glanced from the rosy forehead of the dawn.
For so the words were flashed into his heart He knew not whence or wherefore:'O sweet star,Pure on the virgin forehead of the dawn!'
