Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE SHRIVING OF GUINEVERE, by SILAS WEIR MITCHELL Poet's Biography First Line: Still she stood in the shunning crowd Last Line: The noise of wings departing thence. Subject(s): Knights & Knighthood; Love; Women - Heroes | ||||||||
STILL she stood in the shunning crowd. "Is there none," she said, aloud, "None who knelt to me, great and proud, Will say one word for me, sad and bowed? Alas! it seems to me, if I Were one of you, who, standing by, Hear gathered in a woman's cry The years of such an agony, It seemeth me that I would take Sweet pity's side for mine own sake, And, knowing guilt alone should quake, For chance of right one battle make." But, no man heeding her, she stayed Beneath the linden's trembling shade, And peered, half hopeful, half afraid, While passed in silence man and maid. She, staring on the stone-dry street Through the long summer-noonday heat, And, stirring never from her seat, Half saw men's shadows pass her feet. "Ah me!" she murmured, "well I see How bitter each day's life may be To them who have not where to flee And are as one with misery." But, whether knight to tourney rode, Or bridal garments past her flowed, Or by some bier slow mourners trode, No sign of life the woman showed. When as the priestly evening threw The blessed waters of the dew, About her head her cloak she drew And hid her face from every view; Till, as the twilight grew to shade, And passed no more or man or maid, A sudden hand was on her laid. "And who art thou?" she moaned, afraid. Beside her one of visage sad, Which yet to see made sorrow glad, Stood, in a knight's white raiment clad, But neither sword nor poniard had. "One who has loved you well," he said. "Living I loved you well, and dead I love you still; when joys were spread Like flowers, and greatness crowned your head, None loved you more. Not Arthur gave He will not check me from his grave So pure a love; nor Launcelot brave With deeper love had yearned to save." "Then," said the woman, still at bay, "Why do I tremble when you lay A hand upon my shoulder? Stay, What is your name, sir knight, I pray? For wheresoever memory chase I know not one such troubled face, Nor one that hath such godly grace Of solemn sweetness any place: But, whatsoever man you be, What is it you would have of me?" Whereon, he, smiling cheerily, Said: "I would have you follow me." Not any answer did he wait. But turned towards the city gate; Not any word said she, but straight Went after, bent and desolate; And, as a dream might draw, he drew Her feet to action, till she knew That house and palace round her grew, And some wild revel's reeling crew, And dame and page and squire and knight, And torches flashing on the sight, And fiery jewels flaming bright, And love and music and delight; But slow across the spangled green The stern knight went and went the queen, He solemn, silent, and serene, She bending low with humble mien. But where he turned the music died, Love-parted lips no more replied, And, shrinking back on either side, Serf and lord stared, wonder-eyed, Or marvelling shrunk swift away Before that visage solemn, gray, Till, where the leaping fountains sway, Thick showed the knights in white array. Where'er he passed, though stirred no breeze, The leaves shook, trembling on the trees. Where'er he looked, by slow degrees Fell silence and some strange unease, While whispers ran: "Who may it be? What knight is this? And who is she?" But only Gawain looked to see, And, praying, fell upon his knee. Then said a voice full solemnly: "Of all the knights that look on me, If only one of them there be That never hath sinned wittingly, Let him the woman first disown, Let him be first to cast a stone At her who, fallen from a throne, Is sad and weary and alone. Him, when the lists of God are set, Him, when the knights of God are met, If that he lacketh answer yet, The soul of him shall answer get." Then, as a lily bowed with rain Leaps shedding it, she shed her pain, And towering looked where men, like grain Storm-humbled, bent upon the plain; Whilst over her the cold night air Throbbed with some awful pulse of prayer, As, bending low with reverent care, She kissed the good knight's raiment fair. When as she trembling rose again, And felt no more in heart and brain The weary weight of sin and pain, For him that healed she looked in vain; And from the starry heavens immense Unto her soul with penitence Came, as if felt by some new sense, The noise of wings departing thence. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MONNA INNOMINATA, A SONNET OF SONNETS: 1 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI MONNA INNOMINATA, A SONNET OF SONNETS: 10 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI MONNA INNOMINATA, A SONNET OF SONNETS: 11 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI MONNA INNOMINATA, A SONNET OF SONNETS: 12 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI MONNA INNOMINATA, A SONNET OF SONNETS: 13 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI MONNA INNOMINATA, A SONNET OF SONNETS: 14 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI MONNA INNOMINATA, A SONNET OF SONNETS: 2 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI MONNA INNOMINATA, A SONNET OF SONNETS: 3 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI MONNA INNOMINATA, A SONNET OF SONNETS: 4 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI A DECANTER OF MADEIRA, AGED 86, TO GEORGE BANCROFT, AGED 86 by SILAS WEIR MITCHELL HOW THE CUMBERLAND WENT DOWN [MARCH 8, 1862] by SILAS WEIR MITCHELL |
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