Twixt the sunlight and the shade
Float up memories of my maid.
God, remember Guendolen!
Gold or gems she did not wear,
But her rippled yellow hair,
Like a veil, hid Guendolen.
My rough hands so strangely made
‘Twixt the sunlight and the shade,
Folded Golden Guendolen.
Hands used to grip the sword-hilt hard,
Framed her face, while on the sward
Tears fell down from Guendolen.
Guendolen now speaks no word,
Hands fold round about the sword,
Now no more of Guendolen.
Only `twixt the light and shade,
Floating memories of my maid
Make me pray for Guendolen.