As Guinevere lay dying she foretold
What would befall, when passed she unto death,
Praying, no more in life to see the Knight
Who led her to her fall and to her doom—
Foretold that Launcelot would bear her thence
At last to rest—and lay her in the tomb.
Then came Death, chanting the office for the dead,
And drawing nearer, spake what none might hear,
Save only those who die—in dying ear—
And drawing ever nearer—kissed the Queen.
Then, silence reigned where Guinevere had been—
And weeping, rose the Sisters round her bed—
Placing a simple circlet on her brow,
They clad her body in all purest white
And loosed the golden hair, which served for pall;
And, grieving with that grief that finds no tear,
Came Launcelot and bore her to the Mere,
At dead of night, by light of torch and flame—
To sound of wailing, ’mid the clash of arms,
Raised they a tomb wherein Queen Guinevere
Might rest—and, shriven pass behind the Veil,
To where King Arthur was, and be at Peace.