The boulders lie along the downs; <br />The turf is hard between; <br />The Channel waves are low this dawn, <br />And turf and wave are green. <br /> <br />Now three come down from out the wood, <br />And cross the verdant span; <br />And two have swords and one a rose— <br />A man, a maid, a man. <br /> <br />Beside the sea the turf is flat, <br />With space for one to spring <br />To right or left, and in or out, <br />With steel upraised to sting. <br /> <br />'Have at thee, Carew!' cries the one: <br />'Defend thyself!' it came. <br />The blades against the rising sun <br />Make sudden wands of flame. <br /> <br />Now let the timid curlew fly <br />And let the gull veer past, <br />For point is set to truceless point <br />And doubt shall end at last. <br /> <br />And long below a windy sky <br />The dancing rapiers blaze— <br />The grating edge, the slender death <br />That seeks an hundred ways. <br /> <br />And neither hath the vantage yet, <br />Nor do the Fates decide <br />Above those lists where pride and youth <br />Encounter youth and pride. <br /> <br />Then sudden on the breast of one <br />There lies a scarlet stain. <br />'Tis but a touch, yet at the sight <br />The maiden cries, 'Duane!' <br /> <br />And in that voice, for all to know, <br />Are love and bitter fear; <br />And neither knew, until she cried, <br />Which one to her was dear. <br /> <br />And at that voice the one she named <br />Stands dazed, for instant weal, <br />Till in that heart where joy is crowned <br />Slips the dethroning steel. <br /> <br />He had not struck had he but known <br />How bliss strikes unawares; <br />Now she is on her knees at last, <br />With unavailing pray'rs. <br /> <br />Upon the breast of him that fell <br />Her red rose laid she then; <br />And unto him whose blade was red <br />She never spoke again.<br /><br />George Sterling<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ballad-of-the-fatal-word/
