There were four of us about that bed; <br />The mass-priest knelt at the side, <br />I and his mother stood at the head, <br />Over his feet lay the bride; <br />We were quite sure that he was dead, <br />Though his eyes were open wide. <br /> <br />He did not die in the night, <br />He did not die in the day, <br />But in the morning twilight <br />His spirit pass'd away, <br />When neither sun nor moon was bright, <br />And the trees were merely grey. <br /> <br />He was not slain with the sword, <br />Knight's axe, or the knightly spear, <br />Yet spoke he never a word <br />After he came in here; <br />I cut away the cord <br />From the neck of my brother dear. <br /> <br />He did not strike one blow, <br />For the recreants came behind, <br />In a place where the hornbeams grow, <br />A path right hard to find, <br />For the hornbeam boughs swing so, <br />That the twilight makes it blind. <br /> <br />They lighted a great torch then, <br />When his arms were pinion'd fast, <br />Sir John the knight of the Fen, <br />Sir Guy of the Dolorous Blast, <br />With knights threescore and ten, <br />Hung brave Lord Hugh at last. <br /> <br />I am threescore and ten, <br />And my hair is all turn'd grey, <br />But I met Sir John of the Fen <br />Long ago on a summer day, <br />And am glad to think of the moment when <br />I took his life away. <br /> <br />I am threescore and ten, <br />And my strength is mostly pass'd, <br />But long ago I and my men, <br />When the sky was overcast, <br />And the smoke roll'd over the reeds of the fen, <br />Slew Guy of the Dolorous Blast. <br /> <br />And now, knights all of you, <br />I pray you pray for Sir Hugh, <br />A good knight and a true, <br />And for Alice, his wife, pray too.<br /><br />William Morris<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/shameful-death/
