The Golden Helm

Across his stripling shoulders Geoffrey felt

The knighting-sword fall lightly, and he heard

The King's voice bid him rise; and at the word

He rose, new-flushed with knighthood, swiftly grown

To sudden manhood, though, but now, he knelt

A vigil-wearied squire before the throne.

He paused one moment while the people turned

To look on him with eyes that kindled bright,

Seeing his face aglow with strange, new light;

Yet them he saw not where they watched amazed,

And, though like azure flames Queen Hild's eyes burned,

Beyond the shadow of the throne he gazed

To where, in kindred rapture, young Christine

Stood, tremulous and white, in wind-flower grace —

Beneath her thick, dark hair, her happy face

Pale-gleaming‘ midst the ruddy maiden-throng;

But, following Geoffrey's eyes, the trembling Queen

Now bade the harpers rouse the air with song:

From pulsing throat and silver-throbbing string

The music soared, light-winged, and, fluttering, fell;

When, startled as one waking from a spell,

Geoffrey stepped back among the waiting knights;

While knelt another squire before the King.

In Queen Hild's eyes yet hovered stormy lights,

Beneath her glooming brows, as waters gleam

Under snow-laden skies; the summer day

For her in that brief glance had shivered grey,

Empty of light and song. She only heard

The King and knights as people of a dream;

Yet keenly Geoffrey's lightest, laughing word

Stung to the quick, and stabbed her quivering life,

Till from each shuddering wound the red joy flowed;

And, though a ruddy fire on each cheek glowed,

She felt her drained heart within her cold;

Then all at once a hot thought stirred new strife

Within her breast, and suddenly grown old

And wise in treacherous imagining,

She pressed her thin lips to a bitter smile,

And strove with laughing mask to hide the guile

That, slowly welling, through her body poured

Cold-blooded life that feels no arrowy sting

Of joy or hope, nor thrust of pity's sword.

To Christine, where she yet enraptured stood,

Hild, turning, spake kind words, and coldly praised

The new-made knight. Each word Christine amazed

Drank in with joyous heart and eager ears;

To her it seemed ne'er lived a Queen so good;

And love's swift rapture filled her eyes with tears.

For her true heart, the day-long pageant moved

Round Geoffrey's shining presence; king and knight

But shone for her with pale, reflected light.

As tranced planets circling round the sun,

About the radiant head of her beloved

The dim throngs moved until the day was done.

When lucent gold suffused the cloudless west,

And lingering thrush-notes failed in drowsy song,

She left, at last, the weary maiden-throng,

To stray alone through dew-hung garden-glades;

And all the love unsealed within her breast

Flowed out from her to light the darkest shades.

Her quivering maiden-body could not hold

The sudden welling of love's loosened flood;

Through all her limbs it gushed, and in her blood

It stormed each throbbing pulse with blissful ache;

It seemed to spray the utmost glooms with gold,

And scatter glistening dews in every brake.

While yet she moved in rapture unafraid

Among the lilies, down the Grey Nun's Walk,

She heard behind the snapping of a stalk,

And stayed transfixed, nor dared to turn her head,

But stood a solitary, trembling maid —

Forlorn and frail, with all her courage fled.

Thus Geoffrey found her as, hot-foot, he pressed

To pour about her all the glowing tide

Day-pent within his heart; the flood-gates wide,

His love swept over her, sea after sea,

Until life almost swooned within her breast,

And she seemed like to drown in ecstasy.

Yet, as the tempest sank in calm at last,

She rose from out the foam of love, new-born —

As Venus from the irised surf of morn —

To such triumphant beauty, Geoffrey, thralled,

Before her stood in wonder rooted fast;

Even his love within him bowed appalled

In tongueless worship as he gazed on her;

While, lily-like, the tranced flowers among,

She stood, love-radiant, and above her hung

The canopy of star-enkindling night;

Though, when again she moved with joyous stir,

He sprang to her in love's unchallenged might.