A Day with the Poet Tennyson

by Unknown

Painting by W. H. Margetson.
GUINEVERE.

"Queen Guinevere had fled the court, and sat
There in the holy house at Almesbury,
Weeping, none with her save a little maid,
A novice: one low light betwixt them burned,
Blurred by the creeping mist; for all abroad,
Beneath a moon unseen albeit at full,
The white mist, like a face-cloth to the face,
Clung to the dead earth, and the land was still.
* * * *
There rode an armed warrior to the doors,
A murmuring whisper thro' the nunnery ran,
Then on a sudden a cry, 'The King.' She sat
Stiff-stricken, listening; but when armed feet
Thro' the long gallery from the outer doors
Rang, coming, prone from off her seat she fell
And grovell'd with her face against the floor:
There with her milk-white arms and shadowy hair
She made her face a darkness from the King;
And in the darkness heard his armed feet
Pause by her; then came silence, then a voice,
Monotonous and hollow like a ghost's,
Denouncing judgment, but, tho' changed, the King's.
* * * *
'Yet think not that I come to urge thy crimes,
I did not come to curse thee, Guinevere,
I, whose vast pity almost makes me die
To see thee laying there thy golden head,
My pride in happier summers, at my feet.
... Let no man dream, but that I love thee still,
Perchance, and so thou purify thy soul,
And so thou lean on our fair father Christ,
Hereafter in that world where all are pure
We two may meet before high God, and thou
Wilt spring to me, and claim me thine, and know
I am thine husband—not a smaller soul,
Nor Lancelot, nor another. Leave me that,
I charge thee, my last hope. Now must I hence.
... But hither shall I never come again,
Never lie by thy side: see thee no more—
Farewell!'
And while she grovell'd at his feet,
She felt the King's breath wander o'er her neck,
And in the darkness o'er her fallen head
Perceived the waving of his hands that blest.

Then, listening till those armed steps were gone,
Rose the pale Queen, and in her anguish found
The casement: 'peradventure,' so she thought,
'If I might see his face, and not be seen.'
And lo, he sat on horseback at the door!
And near him the sad nuns with each a light,
Stood, and he gave them charge about the Queen,
To guard and foster her for evermore."
Idylls of the King.

In the course of the day the poet would devote considerable time and energy to his favourite exercise of garden work. To plant trees and shrubs, to roll the lawn, to dig the kitchen garden, and lovingly to tend the simple flowers which he had set, was his constant delight as long as his strength sufficed. He had a passionate love, and an extraordinary knowledge of Nature: he rejoiced in watching the birds in his great cedar, ilex and fir trees, and his mind was thoroughly attuned to the sweet influences of colour and foliage. Few else could have written that unsurpassable lyric, Come into the Garden, Maud.

"Come into the garden, Maud,
For the black bat, night, has flown,
Come into the garden, Maud,
I am here at the gate alone;
And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad,
And the musk of the rose is blown.
For a breeze of morning moves,
And the planet of Love is on high,
Beginning to faint in the light that she loves
On a bed of daffodil sky.
To faint in the light of the sun she loves,
To faint in his light, and to die....

"And the soul of the rose went into my blood,
As the music clash'd in the hall;
And long by the garden lake I stood,
For I heard your rivulet fall
From the lake to the meadow and on to the wood,
Our wood, that is dearer than all;

"From the meadow your walks have left so sweet
That whenever a March wind sighs
He sets the jewel-print of your feet
In violets blue as your eyes,
To the woody hollows in which we meet
And the valleys of Paradise.

"The slender acacia would not shake
One long milk-bloom on the tree;
The white lake-blossom fell into the lake
As the pimpernel dozed on the lea;
But the rose was awake all night for your sake,
Knowing your promise to me;
The lilies and roses were all awake,
They sighed for the dawn and thee.

"Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls,
Come hither, the dances are done,
In gloss of satin, and glimmer of pearls,
Queen lily and rose in one;
Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls,
To the flowers and be their sun.