Whate'er the song, if any any way
It eased her heart of laughter shrill.
Of trees were only black-thorns three,
Low-clump'd upon the ugly hill,
Like witches when, to watch the weather,
They crook their backs and squat together.
    We 'lighted down beneath those trees,
Whereto did I our horses tether;
And on a bough I hung my shield.
She went up higher in the field,
And down her long limbs laid at ease
In the deep grass; which up and down,
Wave after wave of green heaved over
Her bright gold-border'd scarlet gown;
And all but her small face did cover.
For she, propp'd slant upon her arm,
Look'd thro' it sideways with a charm
To catch me; while, now forwards, now
Backwards she swung with saucy brow
Her gold curls, like a gorgeous snake
That lifts and leans on lolling fold,
A lustrous head, but half awake
From winter dreams when, coy and cold,
The Spring wind stirs about the brake.
She call'd me to her thro' the grass:
She call'd me " Friend:" she said I was
"Her Ritter of the rueful face:
But I," she said, " am never sad."
Therewith she laugh'd. The hateful place
Laugh'd too: resolved to make me mad.
I went, and sat beside her there,
And gazed upon her glittering hair.
Musing, I said, " 'Twill soon be night;
Night must be very lonely here."
She look'd at me, and laugh'd outright,
And, laughing, answer'd, " What's to fear?"
But "Fear!" the echo, laughing light,
Still added. It was hard to bear.
Long sat I silent in her sight,
Much musing. When I spoke at last
If what I meant to say I said
I do not know —  for there was pass'd
Like burning lead, about my head
And on my brain, a heavy pain,
And " Oh," I cried, " if it would rain,
And bring some change!" —  Yet this I know,
That, soon as I had ended, she
Look'd thro' her glittering hair at me,
Full in my face, and laugh'd again,
And answer'd " Never! let this be
A thing forgot between us twain."
So, back beneath the black-thorn tree,
Where my shield hung, I went away
A little while, and sat apart.
I could not speak: I could not pray:
I thought it was because my heart
Was in my throat it choked me so!
But now the devil's claw, I know,
It was, that would not let me go;
Me by the throat so fast he had.
Enough! You think that I went mad?
By no means. I grew strong and wise,
Went back, look'd boldly in her eyes,
And stopp'd her laughing. O, at length
I stood up in a sudden strength,
And all the laughing stopp'd. 'Twas she,
Not I, that trembled. I could see
The woman was afraid of me.
She crouch'd and cower'd about my feet
Flat on the grass. For she mistook
My meaning, and began to entreat
My pardon with a piteous look.
Then I laughed long and loud. 'Tis strange,
She did not laugh this time. The change
Was come upon her: and I knew
That she was all mine thro' and thro',
Whatever I might choose to do.
Mine, from the white brow's hiding-place
Under the roots of golden hair
That glitter'd round her frighten'd face;
Mine, from the warmth and odour there
Down to the tender feet that were
Mine too to guess in each great fold
Of scarlet bound about with gold.
So I grew dainty with my pleasure,
And, as a miser counts the treasure,
His heart is loth to spend too fast,
So did my eye take note and measure
Of all my new-gain'd wealth. At last
The Fiend, impatient to be gone,
Brought this to end.
                               When all was done,
I seem'd to know what was to be,
And how 'twould fare henceforth with me,
Who must ride home now all alone:
I knew that I should never see
The face of God, nor ever hear
Her laugh again. And so it was.
Yet 'twas not mine, that blow, I swear.
Nor did I know it, till the grass
Was red and wet. When Gysbrecht tries
To charge me with that deed, he lies!
And lies! and lies! Who could have guess'd
That she had hidden in her breast,
Or in her girdle (what know I?),
A dagger? Did she mean to die
Always, —  even when she seem'd so proud,
So sure of life? Ay, when so loud
She laugh'd that day? I only know
I would have given these two hands,
The moment I beheld her so,
Ay, all my lordships, all my lands,
If but on me had fall'n that blow,
Not her. Oh what were Hell's worst pain.
If I might hear her laugh again?
   It must have been an hour or more
I think (it seem'd an age) before
I, sitting there beside her still
And listening, heard a sound of rain
In the three black-thorns on the hill.
"Too late it comes," I thought, " and vain,
For nothing here will change now." Chill
The evening grew. A wet wind blew
About the billowy grass. I thought
"How cold she will be here all night
In this wet meadow!" Then I caught
At the tall grass, and heap'd and mass'd
Great handfuls of it, which I cast
Over her feet, and on her face;
But first drew down her scarlet gown
Over her limbs composed and meek
In great calm folds; and, o'er her cheek,
Smooth'd the bright hair; and all the place
Where the black redness oozed, I hid
With heaps of grass. All this 1 did
Quite quietly, as a mother might
Put her sick child to sleep. It was night,
Ere I had ended. A dull moon
Across the smearing rain reveal'd
A melancholy light, and soon
Began to peer about the field
To find what still the fresh grass kept
Well hidden. Then I think I crept
Down to the little stream; and stood
A long while looking at the wood,
Wondering what ever I should do.