I
When Sir Gawain was led to his bridal-bed,
By Arthur’s knights in scorn God-sped:—
How think you he felt?
O the bride within
Was yellow and dry as a snake’s old skin;
Loathly as sin!
Scarcely faceable,
Quite unembraceable;
With a hog’s bristle on a hag’s chin!—
Gentle Gawain felt as should we,
Little of Love’s soft fire knew he:
But he was the Knight of Courtesy.