THE GATE OF THE SANCTUARY. 
63 
Thou mayst win the quest—the king, thy friend, 
Gives thee his sword to keep thee—Gereth, kneel ! 
 
“ I dub thee Earl ;  arise ! ”  And then there rings 
The queen’s voice :  “ Shall my love not match the 
king’s ? 
Here, from my finger drawn, this gem of power 
Shall guard thee in some unimagined hour. 
It hath strange virtue over mortal things. 
I freely give it for thy stirrup’s dower. ” 
 
I left the presence.  Now the buffeting wind 
Gladdens my face—I leave the court behind. 
Am I Stark mad ?  My face grows grim and grave ; 
I see—O Mary Mother, speak and save ! 
I stare and stare until mine eyes are blind— 
There was no jewel in the ring she gave ! 
 
Oh !  my pure heart !  Adulterous love began 
So subtly to identify the man 
With its own perfumed thoughts.  So steals the 
grape 
Into the furtive brain—a spirit shape 
Kisses my spirit as no woman can. 
I love her—yes ;  and I have no escape. 
 
I never spoke, I never looked !  But she 
Saw through the curtains of the soul of me, 
And loved me also !  It is very well. 
I am well started on the road to Hell.