And being young, he changed himself, and grew
To hate the sin that seem’d so like his own
Of Modred, Arthur’s nephew, and fell at last 595
In the great battle fighting for the King.
But when the third day from the hunting-morn
Made a low splendour in the world, and wings
Moved in her ivy, Enid, for she lay
With her fair head in the dim yellow light, 600
Among the dancing shadows of the birds,
Woke and bethought her of her promise given