With Sir Sanpeur, "Life is a merry play
To me, naught else, I seldom think beyond
The fashion of the robe I wear!"

Sanpeur,
Alone of all the men who came within
Her circle, varied not at smiles or frowns,
And when he would not humour passing mood,
And when she felt within her wayward heart
The silent protest of his calm reserve,--
Although a longing she had never known
Awoke in her,--her pride, in arms, cried truce
To striving spirit, and she laughed the more.
And oftentimes the stirring of new life,
Without its recognition, made her quick
To war against the wall that Sir Sanpeur
Confronted to some phases of her charm;
Made her assume a wilful shallowness,
To hide the soul she was afraid to face.

One day, at court, her restless spirits rose
To a defiant mood of recklessness,
And half because she wanted to be true,
And half because she could not act the false
Except to overdo it, her clear laugh
Rang out at witty words her heart disdained;
Some knights, ignoble, hating noble men,
Were loud decrying virtue, Gwendolaine
With laugh-begetting words made quick assent
To the unworthy wit