For in high baronial state but little pleasure would there be
If a crowd of reverential paupers were not there to see),
And the sunlight, pouring through them, on the shining armour gleamed
Gleamed on all the banners bright that over every chieftain streamed,
Gleamed upon the golden flagons, and the monarch's flashing sword
Laid before him, and his silver beard down flowing on the board.
Floating in there came a murmur, of the trees that whispered near,
Of the river babbling to the reeds in accents low but clear,
Of the birds, and of sweet silver voices from the green alcove,
Where Ginevra and her maidens prattled of their champions' love.