boast. 
Then when they met for converse face to face,
He spoke from his unsullied, fearless soul
Straight to her own, without reserve or fear. 
Yet he was wrapped in a calm self-control;
No word, no whisper of his love for her
Had ever passed his lips to tell, in truth,
The love that she was sure of in her heart. 
And when he lingered by some maiden fair,
With that true-hearted careful courtesy
He never for a moment’s space forgot
To any woman, queen or serving-maid;
And when the maiden’s eyes gave bright response
To his fair words of thought-betaking grace,
The heart of Gwendolaine would faster beat,
And all her waywardness would quick return;
Then, if Sanpeur approached her, she would mock
At life, and love, and fling the gauntlet down
As challenge for a tournament of speech.

“And pray, Sanpeur,” she said one eve to him,
When they were at a feast at Camelot,
“Why is your life so lone and incomplete,
When any lovely maiden of the court
Would follow you most gladly at your call?”

“You know full well, my Lady Gwendolaine.”

“By your kind grace, I cannot guess,” she said,
Repenting as she said it, instantly.

“Because I love you only, evermore;
You long have felt it, known it; and I thought
Cared not to hear me say it with my voice;
But, as you wish it, I have said it now,
My Lady Gwendolaine.”

They stood among
The knights and ladies, therefore he spoke low,
In quiet dignity, as he might say
“How well the colour of your robe beseems
Your beauty";—­not a trace of passionate
Intensity, save in his lucent eyes. 
No passion nor embrace could so have moved her,
As this calm telling her in quiet words
The secret of all secrets in God’s world,
As though it were a part of daily life;
This power to hold a passion in his hand,—­
Which his true eyes declared was measureless,—­
As though he were its master, utterly. 
True women are like Nature, their great mother,
Stirred on the surface by each passing wind,
But ruled by silent forces at the heart. 
She caught her breath a moment in surprise,—­
For naught has to the mind more of surprise
Than the sweet long-expected, if it come
When one expects it not,—­and paused a space,
With downcast eyes; and then her woman-soul
Went out in sudden impulse, graciously,
In boundless thought for him who gave her all. 
“O Sanpeur, love one worthier than I,
And where your love will not be guerdonless!”

“To love you is a guerdon of itself,
You are so well worth loving, Gwendolaine.”