Collected Poems
And she, demurely, with a calm regard
That he met once and parried, stood apart,
Appraising him with eyes that were no longer
Those he had seen when first they had seen his.
They were kind eyes, but they were not the eyes
Of his desire; and they were not the eyes
That he had followed all the way from Dover.
" I feared the Light was leading you, " she said,
" So far by now from any place like this
That I should have your memory, but no more.
Might not that way have been the wiser way?
There is no Arthur now, no Modred now,
~No Guinevere. " She paused, and her voice wandered
Away from her own name : " There is nothing now
That I can see between you and the Light
That I have dimmed so long. If you forgive me,
And I believe you do though I know all
That I have cost, when I was worth so little
There is no hazard that I see between you
And all you sought so long, and would have found
Had I not always hindered you. Forgive me
I could not let you go. God pity men
When women love too much and women more. "
He scowled and with an iron shrug he said :
" Yes, there is that between me and the light. "
He glared at her black hood as if to seize it;
Their eyes met, and she smiled: " No, Lancelot;
We are going by two roads to the same end ;
Or let us hope, at least, what knowledge hides,
And so believe it. We are going somewhere.
Why the new world is not for you and me,
I cannot say; but only one was ours.
I think we must have lived in our one world
All that earth had for us. You are good to me,
Coming to find me here for the last time;