Sir Launcelot And Queen Guinevere

by Alfred Lord Tennyson

　　

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Like souls that balance joy and pain,With tears and smiles from heaven againThe maiden Spring upon the plainCame in a sun-lit fall of rain.In crystal vapour everywhereBlue isles of heaven laugh'd between,And far, in forest-deeps unseen,The topmost elm-tree gather'd greenFrom draughts of balmy air.Sometimes the linnet piped his song:Sometimes the throstle whistled strong:Sometimes the sparhawk, wheel'd along,Hush'd all the groves from fear of wrong:By grassy capes with fuller soundIn curves the yellowing river ran,And drooping chestnut-buds beganTo spread into the perfect fan,Above the teeming ground.Then, in the boyhood of the year,Sir Launcelot and Queen GuinevereRode thro' the coverts of the deer,With blissful treble ringing clear.She seem'd a part of joyous Spring:A gown of grass-green silk she wore,Buckled with golden clasps before;A light-green tuft of plumes she boreClosed in a golden ring.Now on some twisted ivy-net,Now by some tinkling rivulet,In mosses mixt with violetHer cream-white mule his pastern set:And fleeter now she skimm'd the plainsThan she whose elfin prancer springsBy night to eery warblings,When all the glimmering moorland ringsWith jingling bridle-reins.As she fled fast thro' sun and shade,The happy winds upon her play'd,Blowing the ringlet from the braid:She look'd so lovely, as she sway'dThe rein with dainty finger-tips,A man had given all other bliss,And all his worldly worth for this,To waste his whole heart in one kissUpon her perfect lips.

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