With a loud whirr; and Gawayne, kneeling there,
Shrank back an inch; and the green giant stayed
His threatening hand, and with a cold sneer said: 
“You shrink, sir, from the axe; I can’t hit true
Unless you hold still, as I did for you.” 
“Your pardon,” Gawayne said, with bated breath;
“This time I swear to hold as still as death.” 
He did so, and the Green Knight swung again
His axe, and whirled it round his head, and then,
Pausing a second time, said:  “Very good! 
You’re holding quite still now; I knew you would!”
Gawayne, in anger, said:  “Jest, if you like,
After the blow; tarry no longer; strike!”
So once again the ponderous axe was raised;
But this time down it came, and lightly grazed
Sir Gawayne’s neck.  He felt the hot blood flow,
And saw red drops that sank deep in the snow,
And then he jumped up, faced his foe, and cried: 
“Enough:  you owed me one blow, though I died;
But be you man or beast or devil abhorred,
I yield no further; with my mortal sword
I do defy you; and if mortal man
May hope against” ... 
                   But the Green Knight began
A low melodious laugh, like running brooks
Whose pebbly babble fills the shadowy nooks
Of green-aisled woodlands, when the winds are still. 
“My friend, we bear each other no ill will. 
When first I swung my axe, you showed some fear;
I owed you that much for your blow last year. 
The second time I swung,—­yet spared your life,—­
That paid you for the kiss you gave my wife!”
“Your wife!” “My wife, Sir Gawayne; ’t was my word;
And when I swung my weapon for the third
And last time, then I made the red blood spirt
For that green girdle underneath your shirt! 
You played me false, my friend!”
                                   And Gawayne knelt
Once more, and casting off the magic belt,
In bitter broken words confessed his shame,
And begged the Green Knight to avenge the name
Of injured knighthood, and with one last blow
To end his guilty life.  “Nay, nay, not so,”
The other softly said.  “Be of good cheer;
Your fault was small, for all men hold life dear. 
We tempted you, my friend, with all our might,
And proved you in good sooth a noble knight;
A veritable Joseph, sir, you are!”
Quoth Gawayne drily, “Thanks, Lord Potiphar! 
But may I ask you why you played this part?”
The other said:  “Ask Lady Elfinhart!”

He smiled, and from his smile a genial glow
Of green mid-summer seemed to overflow,
Filling with verdure all that barren place. 
The warm red blood rushed to Sir Gawayne’s face;
He caught his breath, and in his eager eyes
There shone a sudden flash of dark surmise,
And then he stood a long while pondering;
But in his breast his heart began to sing
The old, old music whose still echoes roll
Forever voiceless through the listening soul. 
He said farewell to his good fairy friend