Amazed they stood, wide-eyed, with holden breath;
When, of a sudden, flashed upon their sight
The golden helm in midmost of the fight,
Where, with high-lifted head and undismayed,
Sir Geoffrey rode, a very lord of death,
With ever-leaping, ever-crashing blade.
Christine watched long, now cold with quaking dread,
Now hot with hope as each assailant fell;
The bright sword held her gaze as by a spell;
Because love blinded her to all but love,