Old Love

You must be very old, Sir Giles,

I said; he said: Yea, very old!

Whereat the mournfullest of smiles

Creased his dry skin with many a fold.

They hammer’d out my basnet point

Into a round salade, he said,

The basnet being quite out of joint,

Natheless the salade rasps my head.

He gazed at the great fire awhile:

And you are getting old, Sir John;

(He said this with that cunning smile

That was most sad) we both wear on;

Knights come to court and look at me,

With eyebrows up; except my lord,

And my dear lady, none I see

That know the ways of my old sword.

(My lady! at that word no pang

Stopp’d all my blood). But tell me, John,

Is it quite true that Pagans hang

So thick about the east, that on

The eastern sea no Venice flag

Can fly unpaid for? True, I said,

And in such way the miscreants drag

Christ’s cross upon the ground, I dread

That Constantine must fall this year.

Within my heart, these things are small;

This is not small, that things outwear

I thought were made for ever, yea, all,

All things go soon or late, I said.

I saw the duke in court next day;

Just as before, his grand great head

Above his gold robes dreaming lay,

Only his face was paler; there

I saw his duchess sit by him;

And she, she was changed more; her hair

Before my eyes that used to swim............