Reptilian green the wrinkled throat, <br />Green as a bough of yew the beard; <br />He bent his head, and so I smote; <br />Then for a thought my vision cleared. <br /> <br />The head dropped clean; he rose and walked; <br />He fixed his fingers in the hair; <br />The head was unabashed and talked; <br />I understood what I must dare. <br /> <br />His flesh, cut down, arose and grew. <br />He bade me wait the season’s round, <br />And then, when he had strength anew, <br />To meet him on his native ground. <br /> <br />The year declined; and in his keep <br />I passed in joy a thriving yule; <br />And whether waking or in sleep, <br />I lived in riot like a fool. <br /> <br />He beat the woods to bring me meat. <br />His lady, like a forest vine, <br />Grew in my arms; the growth was sweet; <br />And yet what thoughtless force was mine! <br /> <br />By practice and conviction formed, <br />With ancient stubbornness ingrained, <br />Although her body clung and swarmed, <br />My own identity remained. <br /> <br />Her beauty, lithe, unholy, pure, <br />Took shapes that I had never known; <br />And had I once been insecure, <br />Had grafted laurel in my bone. <br /> <br />And then, since I had kept the trust, <br />Had loved the lady, yet was true, <br />The knight withheld his giant thrust <br />And let me go with what I knew. <br /> <br />I left the green bark and the shade, <br />Where growth was rapid, thick, and still; <br />I found a road that men had made <br />And rested on a drying hill.<br /><br />Yvor Winters<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sir-gawaine-and-the-green-knight/
