Of intermitted usage; then I felt
  That I could rest, a rock in ebbs and flows,
  Fixt on her faith.  Now, therefore, I do rest,
  A prophet certain of my prophecy,
  That never shadow of mistrust can cross
  Between us.  Grant me pardon for my thoughts: 
  And for my strange petition I will make
  Amends hereafter by some gaudy-day,
  When your fair child shall wear your costly gift
  Beside your own warm hearth, with, on her knees,
  Who knows? another gift of the high God,
  Which, maybe, shall have learn’d to lisp you thanks.”

    He spoke:  the mother smiled, but half in tears,
  Then brought a mantle down and wrapt her in it,
  And claspt and kiss’d her, and they rode away.

    Now thrice that morning Guinevere had climb’d
  The giant tower, from whose high crest, they say,
  Men saw the goodly hills of Somerset,
  And white sails flying on the yellow sea;
  But not to goodly hill or yellow sea
  Look’d the fair Queen, but up the vale of Usk,
  By the flat meadow, till she saw them come;
  And then descending met them at the gates,
  Embraced her with all welcome as a friend,
  And did her honor as the Prince’s bride,
  And clothed her for her bridals like the sun;
  And all that week was old Caerleon gay,
  For by the hands of Dubric, the high saint,
  They twain were wedded with all ceremony.

    And this was on the last year’s Whitsuntide. 
  But Enid ever kept the faded silk,
  Remembering how first he came on her,
  Drest in that dress, and how he loved her in it,
  And all her foolish fears about the dress,
  all his journey toward her, as himself
  Had told her, and their coming to the court.

    And now this morning when he said to her,
  “Put on your worst and meanest dress,” she found
  And took it, and array’d herself therein.

  II

  O purblind race of miserable men,
  How many among us at this very hour
  Do forge a life-long trouble for ourselves,
  By taking true for false, or false for true;
  Here, thro’ the feeble twilight of this world
  Groping, how many, until we pass and reach
  That other, where we see as we are seen!

    So fared it with Geraint, who issuing forth
  That morning, when they both had got to horse,
  Perhaps because he loved her passionately,
  And felt that tempest brooding round his heart,
  Which, if he spoke at all, would break perforce
  Upon a head so dear in thunder, said: 
  “Not at my side.  I charge thee ride before,
  Ever a good way on before; and this
  I charge thee, on thy duty as a wife,
  Whatever happens, not to speak to me,
  No, not a word!” and Enid was aghast;
  And forth they rode, but scarce three paces on,
  When crying out, “Effeminate as I am,
  I will not fight my way with gilded arms