“Ah, Sir Sanpeur,
Your memory is far too steadfast!”

“Naught
Can be too steadfast for your grace, fair dame.”

Now he has come, the wayward Gwendolaine
Is fain to punish him for his delay. 
“Methinks,” she says, in pique, against her will,
“The beautiful Ettonne looks for her knight;
It scarce seems chivalrous to leave her thus.”

“’Tis true, my lady, I came not to stay,
But for a greeting, which I now have said.”

He left her, the light shadow darker grew
Within her eyes, and golden hawking bells
Upon her jesses clashed with sudden clink,
As her fair hand had closed impatiently.

Betimes came Constantine, who looked a man
Of hard-won conquests, not the least, o’er self. 
Before his stately presence Gwendolaine
Bowed low with heartfelt loyalty.

“My King,
Care rides beside you, banish him, to-day,
He will but spoil the sunshine and the hunt.”

“Alas! he is the Sovereign of the King,
And stays, defying all command, fair Gwendolaine.” 
Then, smiling grimly,—­“My great heritage,
As heir to fragments of the Table Round,
Brings me no wealth of ease.”

In converse light
They rode together.  When the hunt was done,
The King, all courteous, said, “My gracious dame,
Well have you learned of nature her great laws;
The sun, that warms with its intensity
The earth to fruitage, is the same that throws
Stray sportive gleams to beautify alone;
And you, who meet my purposes of state
With a responsive thought and sympathy,
As no dame of the court,—­and scarcely knight,—­
Has ever done, are first in making me
Forget their weight.  Gramercy for your grace! 
It has revived me as a summer shower
Revives the parched and under-trodden grass;
It is but seldom I have time to seek
Refreshment, save of labour changed.”

“My King,”—­
She passed from gay to grave,—­“my own heart aches
With life’s vexed questions, and its stern demands,
Full often even in my sheltered state;
And you, my liege, must be well-nigh o’ercome
With the vast load of duties you fulfil
So nobly, to the glory of the realm. 
Would I could serve you, as you well deserve;
But I am only woman, so I smile
In lieu of fighting for you, as I would
Unto the death, if I were but a knight.” 
And this same dame who spoke so earnestly
To Constantine, said when she next had speech
With Sir Sanpeur, “Life is a merry play
To me, naught else, I seldom think beyond
The fashion of the robe I wear!”

Sanpeur,
Alone of all the men who came within
Her circle, varied not at smiles or frowns,
And when he would not humour passing mood,
And when she felt within her wayward heart
The silent protest of his calm reserve,—­
Although a longing she had never known
Awoke in her,—­her pride, in arms, cried truce
To striving spirit, and she laughed the more. 
And oftentimes the stirring of new life,
Without its recognition, made her quick
To war against the wall that Sir Sanpeur
Confronted to some phases of her charm;
Made her assume a wilful shallowness,
To hide the soul she was afraid to face.