I honored this Arthur as a noble king,
The mighty monarch and the splendid warrior.
And yet I fear him for reputed coldness.
Thou knowest me a princess warm in blood,
Brim with fire and sweetness of this life,
Not fitted to be wedded to a statue,
A marble, though that marble be a king.
For something stirred my life-springs long ago,
And whispered, Guinevere were made for love
And love alone would rule her destiny.