And lifting up her face he said to her:
"Hast thou thy lute still? Then come sing to me;
That song again, that pleased me once so ill—
Two years ago at parting. If it please
No better now, straightway I will depart,
And—thou with me. Yea, on one steed, if needs,
We will ride forth together to the Queen,
To old Caerleon, and King Arthur's Court;
And Gwenhwyvar shall kiss thee and confess
Thou art her loveliest flower, my own wild rose,