To where, with shattered sword and splintered shield,
Among the mounded bodies Geoffrey lay.
She loosed his helm, but deathly pale and still
His young face gleamed within the light of day.
Christine beside him knelt, as Philip sought
A draught of water from the peat-born stream;
When, in his eyes, at last, a fitful gleam
Flickered, and bending low, with straining ears,
The laboured breathing of her name she caught;
And over his dead face fell fast her tears.