Ever again shall we twine arms and lips.
There is in this, and in the whole of the poem from this point a true and incisive sense of conflict, continually heightened by such perfectly balanced turns of the imagination as when Launcelot says:—
lo you her thin hand,
That on the carven stone can not keep still
Because she loves me against God's command.
culminating in the confused feelings of terror and appeased destiny at the end of Guenevere's speaking.
Sir Galahad: A Christmas Mystery is, it may be said, entirely free of the obscurity, and shows, if not a profounder, yet a more acute power of perception. The beauty and tenderness of love-sorrow are themes common enough in poetry, but Morris by making Galahad's experience of them spring from his thought of other men's love presents them with a peculiarly fresh poignancy. Galahad on his quest, 'dismal, unfriended,' thinks of the other knights.
And what if Palomydes also ride,
And over many a mountain and bare heath
Follow the questing beast with none beside?
Is he not able still to hold his breath
With thoughts of Iseult? doth he not grow pale
With weary striving, to seem best of all
To her, 'as she is best,' he saith? to fail
Is nothing to him, he can never fall.
For unto such a man love-sorrow is
So dear a thing unto his constant heart,
That even if he never win one kiss,
Or touch from Iseult, it will never part.
And Launcelot can think of Guenevere, 'next month I kiss you, or next week, And still you think of me,' but Galahad himself
Some carle shall find
Dead in my arms in the half-melted snow,