Then she bethought her of a faded silk,
  A faded mantle and a faded veil,
  And moving toward a cedarn cabinet,
  Wherein she kept them folded reverently
  With sprigs of summer laid between the folds,
  She took them, and array’d herself therein,
  Remembering when first he came on her
  Drest in that dress, and how he loved her in it,
  And all her foolish fears about the dress,
  And all his journey to her, as himself
  Had told her, and their coming to the court.

    For Arthur on the Whitsuntide before
  Held court at old Caerleon upon Usk. 
  There on a day, he sitting high in hall,
  Before him came a forester of Dean,
  Wet from the woods, with notice of a hart
  Taller than all his fellows, milky-white,
  First seen that day:  these things he told the King. 
  Then the good King gave order to let blow
  His horns for hunting on the morrow morn. 
  And when the Queen petition’d for his leave
  To see the hunt, allow’d it easily. 
  So with the morning all the court were gone. 
  But Guinevere lay late into the morn,
  But rose at last, a single maiden with her,
  Took horse, and forded Usk, and gain’d the wood;
  There, on a little knoll beside it, stay’d
  Waiting to hear the hounds; but heard instead
  A sudden sound of hoofs, for Prince Geraint,
  Late also, wearing neither hunting-dress
  Nor weapon, save a golden-hilted brand,
  Came quickly flashing thro’ the shallow ford
  Behind them, and so gallop’d up the knoll.

    A purple scarf, at either end whereof
  There swung an apple of the purest gold,
  Sway’d round about him, as he gallop’d up
  To join them, glancing like a dragon-fly
  In summer suit and silks of holiday. 
  Low bow’d the tributary Prince, and she,
  Sweetly and statelily, and with all grace
  Of womanhood and queenhood, answer’d him: 
  “Late, late, Sir Prince,” she said, “later than we!”
  “Yea, noble Queen,” he answer’d, “and so late
  That I but come like you to see the hunt,
  Not join it.”  “Therefore wait with me,” she said;
  “For on this little knoll, if anywhere,
  There is good chance that we shall hear the hounds: 
  Here often they break covert at our feet.” 
  And while they listen’d for the distant hunt,
  And chiefly for the baying of Cavall,
  King Arthur’s hound of deepest mouth, there rode
  Full slowly by a knight, lady, and dwarf;
  Whereof the dwarf lagg’d latest, and the knight
  Had vizor up, and show’d a youthful face,
  Imperious and of haughtiest lineaments. 
  And Guinevere, not mindful of his face
  In the King’s hall, desired his name, and sent
  Her maiden to demand it of the dwarf;
  Who being vicious, old and irritable,
  And doubling all his master’s vice of pride,
  Made answer sharply that she should not know. 
  “Then will I ask it of himself,”