His horns for hunting on the morrow morn.
And when the Queen petition’d for his leave
To see the hunt, allow’d it easily. 155
So with the morning all the court were gone.
But Guinevere lay late into the morn,
Lost in sweet dreams, and dreaming of her love
For Lancelot, and forgetful of the hunt;
But rose at last, a single maiden with her, 160
Took horse, and forded Usk, and gain’d the wood;
There, on a little knoll beside it, stay’d