" A storm was coming, but the winds were still,And in the wild woods of Broceliande,Before an oak, so hollow, huge and oldIt looked a tower of ivied masonwork,At Merlin's feet the wily Vivien lay.For he that always bare in bitter grudgeThe slights of Arthur and his Table, MarkThe Cornish King, had heard a wandering voice,A minstrel of Caerlon by strong stormBlown into shelter at Tintagil, sayThat out of naked knightlike puritySir Lancelot worshipt no unmarried girlBut the great Queen herself, fought in her name,Sware by her--vows like theirs, that high in heavenLove most, but neither marry, nor are givenIn marriage, angels of our Lord's report.He ceased, and then--for Vivien sweetly said(She sat beside the banquet nearest Mark),'And is the fair example followed, Sir,In Arthur's household?'--answered innocently:'Ay, by some few--ay, truly--youths that holdIt more beseems the perfect virgin knightTo worship woman as true wife beyondAll hopes of gaining, than as maiden girl.They place their pride in Lancelot and the Queen.So passionate for an utter purityBeyond the limit of their bond, are these,For Arthur bound them not to singleness.Brave hearts and clean! and yet God guide them young."
