I cannot stay here all alone,
Or meet their happy faces here,
And wretchedly I have no fear;
A little while, and I am gone.
Therewith she rose upon her feet,
And totter'd; cold and misery
Still made the deep sobs come, till she
At last stretch'd out her fingers sweet,
And caught the great sword in her hand;
And, stealing down the silent stair,
Barefooted in the morning air.
And only in her smock, did stand
Upright upon the green lawn grass;
And hope grew in her as she said:
I have thrown off the white and red,
And pray God it may come to pass
I meet him; if ten years go by
Before I meet him; if, indeed,
Meanwhile both soul and body bleed,
Yet there is end of misery,
And I have hope. He could not come,
But I can go to him and show
These new things I have got to know,
And make him speak, who has been dumb.
O Jehane! the red morning sun
Changed her white feet to glowing gold,
Upon her smock, on crease and fold,
Changed that to gold which had been dun.
O Miles, and Giles, and Isabeau,
Fair Ellayne le Violet,
Mary, Constance fille de fay!
Where is Jehane du Castel beau?
O big Gervaise ride apace!
Down to the hard yellow sand,
Where the water meets the land.
This is Jehane by her face.
Why has she a broken sword?
Mary! she is slain outright;
Verily a piteous sight;
Take her up without a word!