So for long hours sat Enid by her lord,
  There in the naked hall, propping his head,
  And chafing his pale hands, and calling to him. 
  Till at the last he waken’d from his swoon,
  And found his own dear bride propping his head,
  And chafing his faint hands, and calling to him;
  And felt the warm tears falling on his face;
  And said to his own heart, “She weeps for me:” 
  And yet lay still, and feign’d himself as dead,
  That he might prove her to the uttermost,
  And say to his own heart, “She weeps for me.”

    But in the falling afternoon return’d
  The huge Earl Doorm with plunder to the hall. 
  His lusty spearmen follow’d him with noise: 
  Each hurling down a heap of things that rang
  Against the pavement, cast his lance aside,
  And doff’d his helm:  and then there flutter’d in,
  Half-bold, half-frighted, with dilated eyes,
  A tribe of women, dress’d in many hues,
  And mingled with the spearmen:  and Earl Doorm
  Struck with a knife’s haft hard against the board,
  And call’d for flesh and wine to feed his spears. 
  And men brought in whole hogs and quarter beeves. 
  And all the hall was dim with steam of flesh: 

[Illustration:  ENID WATCHING BY GERAINT]

  And none spake word, but all sat down at once,
  And ate with tumult in the naked hall,
  Feeding like horses when you hear them feed;
  Till Enid shrank far back into herself,
  To shun the wild ways of the lawless tribe. 
  But when Earl Doorm had eaten all he would,
  He roll’d his eyes about the hall, and found
  A damsel drooping in a corner of it. 
  Then he remember’d her, and how she wept;
  And out of her there came a power upon him;
  And rising on the sudden he said, “Eat! 
  I never yet beheld a thing so pale. 
  God’s curse, it makes me mad to see you weep. 
  Eat!  Look yourself.  Good luck had your good man,
  For were I dead who is it would weep for me? 
  Sweet lady, never since I first drew breath
  Have I beheld a lily like yourself. 
  And so there lived some color in your cheek,
  There is not one among my gentlewomen
  Were fit to wear your slipper for a glove. 
  But listen to me, and by me be ruled,
  And I will do the thing I have not done,
  For ye shall share my earldom with me, girl,
  And we will live like two birds in one nest,
  And I will fetch you forage from all fields,
  For I compel all creatures to my will.”

    He spoke:  the brawny spearman let his cheek
  Bulge with the unswallowed piece, and turning stared;
  While some, whose souls the old serpent long had drawn
  Down, as the worm draws in the wither’d leaf
  And makes it earth, hiss’d each at other’s ear
  What shall not be recorded—­women they,
  Women, or what had been those gracious things,
  But now desired the humbling of their