The Annual Post: Enid & Geraint

Once strong, from solid
Camelot he came
Glory with him, Geraint,
Whose sword tamed the wild.
Fabled the fortune he won,
Fame, and a wife.
The beasts he battled
With horn and lance;
Stood farms where fens lay.
When bandits returned
To old beast-holds
Geraint gave them the same.

And then long peace,
Purchased by the manful blade.
Light delights filled it,
Tournaments softened, tempered
By ladies; in peace lingers
the dream of safety.

They dreamed together. Darkness
Gathered on the old wood,
Wild things troubled the edges,
Then crept closer.
The whispers of weakness
Are echoed with evil.

At last even Enid
Whose eyes are as dusk
Looked on her Lord
And weighed him wanting.
Her gaze gored him:
He dressed in red-rust mail.

And put her on palfrey
To ride before or beside
And they went to the wilds,
Which were no longer
So far. Ill-used,
His sword hung beside.

By the long wood, where
Once he laid pastures,
The knight halted, horsed,
Gazing on the grim trees.
He opened his helm
Beholding a bandit realm.

Enid cried at the charge
Of a criminal clad in mail!
The Lord turned his horse,
Set his untended shield:
There lacked time, there
Lacked thought for more.

Villanous lance licked the
Ancient shield. It split,
Broke, that badge of the knight!
The spearhead searched
Old, rust-red mail.
Geraint awoke.

Master and black mount
Rediscovered their rich love,
And armor, though old
Though red with thick rust,
Broke the felon blade.
The spear to-brast, shattered.

And now Enid sees
In Geraint's cold eyes
What shivers her to the spine.
And now his hand
Draws the ill-used sword:
Ill-used, but well-forged.

And the shock from the spear-break
Rang from bandit-towers
Rattled the wood, and the world!
Men dwelt there in wonder.
Who had heard that tone?
They did not remember that sound.

His best spear broken
On old, rusted mail,
The felon sought his forest.
Enid's dusk eyes sense
The strength of old steel:
Geraint grips his reins.

And he winds his old horn,
And he spurs his proud horse,
And the wood to his wrath trembles.
And every bird
From the wild forest flies,
But the Ravens.


bthun said...

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted nevermore.

Cass said...

Thank you for re-posting this, Grim.

It is a great work, and its beauty never fails to bring me to tears.

Grim said...

Thank you for the kind words, Cass. I'm glad to know that it touched someone.

bthun said...

Agree with the assessment M'lady Cass passed of this being a great poem Grim.

I could have sworn I've said as much in the past... Ah well, such is the problem with aging. They say the mind is the first, no second, ah, maybe third thing to... Huh? What?

On this day each year, I find my soul in darkness, near the floor, brimming with rage, and my own words, if given free rein, would probably not be suitable for polite company. So I cribbed some Poe.

Eric Blair said...

The lesson has not been learned, alas.

Cass said...

On this day each year, I find my soul in darkness, near the floor, brimming with rage, and my own words, if given free rein, would probably not be suitable for polite company. So I cribbed some Poe.

Though it's nothing compared to Grim's work (and has absolutely nothing to do with 9/11), I have always been rather proud of this little number, Bthun:

Whose job is this? I think I know.
My aching back is screaming, though;
As abs not flexed for many a year
Are tortured by the mounting snow.

The frozen tundra's almost clear
As through the drifting flakes I peer
I'm tempted to postpone the rest
To step inside, and have a beer.

My mighty shovel does its best
To carve neat swaths at my behest
But buried decks and frozen stairs
Begin to seem a hopeless quest.

The snow is lovely, silent, deep.
It drifts in mountains, chill and steep
My weiner dog's ass-deep in snow
I wish he'd hurry up and go.
I wish he'd hurry up and go.

/running away :)

bthun said...


Outstanding M'lady.

You captured some of my thoughts when I explained to Walkin' Boss why we needed to relocate to Hotlanta from Merryland lo these many decades ago.

Granted S. Maryland did not receive, on average, the same amount of snow as Fredneck... It was more than this old southern boy needed.

And the commutes to/from NRL through the snow! Sheesh.

Slip slidin' away.
Slip slidin' away.
The higher the powder on what you think is the road,
the more you're slip slidin' away.

Cass said...

I'm dreading this winter.

We live back in the country and the little road that connects us to civilization is full of twists and hairpin turns and hills, culminating in a combined deep "S" curve that goes over a creek.

It was hard to get out of our old neighborhood when it snowed, but I suspect it will be even harder to get out of the new one.