William Morris (1834-1896)
“The Defence of Guenevere” (1858)
Editorial Introduction
By Alexa Garcia
In 1858, William Morris published The Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems. The Arthurian poem provides a contrast to Lord Tennyson’s Arthurian epic, Idylls of the King, as it “manipulates the dramatic monologue form and plays upon typical Victorian expectations of medievalist discourse” (Harrison 249). By portraying Guenevere as both the hero and the victim, Morris challenges the Victorian ideal of manliness, which stems from “medieval codes of chivalry” (Harrison 250). In the Arthurian legend, Guenevere’s “adultery plays a crucial role because she weakens the fraternal bonds between the Knights of the Round Table,” yet Morris has no intention of attacking Guenevere but is more concerned with her “ideas of truth and testimony” (Alkalay-Gut 238). Although at the time of its publication, most readers found the poem to be radical and were unsure what to make of it. “Here Christian values are supplanted by erotic ones, chivalry is a fraud, and Christian ideals of virtue are displaced,” through Guenevere and her relationship with Lancelot (Harrison 251).
With themes of social expectations, virtue, and chivalry, the annotations provided will help guide readers in understanding why “The Defence of Guenevere questions the ideology of Victorian expectations for both men and women, especially since it drew from the “medieval codes of chivalry” (Harrison 250). These ideals reflect the Victorian perspective of men and women, and through Guenevere, readers may understand how the heroine uses her beauty as a means of resistance. She uses her seduction to prove to her accusers, including Sir Gauwaine, of their own sexual downfall that goes against the Arthurian code of conduct. As a woman, Guenevere illustrates how women can become a powerful presence, challenging the Victorian expectation that women should be obedient and dutiful to their husbands by asserting her own worth within the poem.
Works Cited in Editorial Introduction and annotations
- Alkalay-Gut, Karen. “Aesthetic and Decadent Poetry.” The Cambridge Companion to Victorian Poetry, edited by Bristow, Joseph, Cambridge University Press, 2000, 228-254.
- “Characters of Arthurian Legend Morgause.” King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table, 2022.
- Cohen, Michele. “‘Manners’ Make the Man: Politeness, Chivalry, and the Construction of Masculinity, 1750-1830.”Journal of British Studies, vol. 44, no. 2, 2005, pp. 312-329.
- Harrison, Antony H. “Arthurian Poetry and Medievalism.” A Companion to Victorian Poetry, edited by Chapman, Alison, Cronin, Richard, & Harrison, Antony H., Blackwell Publishing, 2002, 246-261.
- Oxford English Dictionary. Oxford University Press, 2025.
- Silver, Carole G. “‘The Defence of Guenevere’: A Further Interpretation.” Studies in English Literature, 1500-1900, vol. 9, no. 4, 1969, pp. 695-702.
- Tarvers, Josephine K. “‘The Deep Still Land of Colours’: Color Imagery in ‘The Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems.’” Studies in Philology, vol. 84, no.2, 1987, pp.180-193.
- “The Defence of Guenevere An Arthurian Miscellany William Morris.” YouTube, uploaded by hats0fyou, 9 May 2016.
Resources and Annotations
Annotations are available for this poem. To learn how to view them, please see the How To View and Use Hypothesis Annotations help page.
An audio recording of the poem is available in this video; recording from LibriVox:

Figure of Guinevere, 1858, William Morris. Tate, presented by the Trustees of the Chantrey Bequest, 1940. Watercolour and graphite on paper. 1264 x 552 mm. Image ID #: N05221. Accession #: N05221. Photo: © Tate. Used with permission.
BUT, knowing now that they would have her speak,
She threw her wet hair backward from her brow,
Her hand close to her mouth touching her cheek,
As though she had had there a shameful blow,
And feeling it shameful to feel ought but shame
All through her heart, yet felt her cheek burned so,
She must a little touch it; like one lame
She walked away from Gauwaine, with her head
The tears dried quick; she stopped at last and said:
O knights and lords, it seems but little skill
To talk of well-known things past now and dead.
And pray you all forgiveness heartily!
Because you must be right, such great lords; still
And you were quite alone and very weak;
Yea, laid a dying while very mightily
Of river through your broad lands running well:
Suppose a hush should come, then some one speak:
Now choose one cloth for ever; which they be,
I will not tell you, you must somehow tell
Yea, yea, my lord, and you to ope your eyes,
At foot of your familiar bed to see
Not known on earth, on his great wings, and hands,
Held out two ways, light from the inner skies
Seem to be God’s commands, moreover, too,
Holding within his hands the cloths on wands;
Wavy and long, and one cut short and red;
No man could tell the better of the two.
‘God help! heaven’s colour, the blue;’ and he said, ‘hell.’
Perhaps you then would roll upon your bed,
‘Ah Christ! if only I had known, known, known;’
Launcelot went away, then I could tell,
And roll and hurt myself, and long to die,
And yet fear much to die for what was sown.
Whatever may have happened through these years,
God knows I speak truth, saying that you lie.
But as it cleared, it grew full loud and shrill,
Growing a windy shriek in all men’s ears,
She said that Gauwaine lied, then her voice sunk,
And her great eyes began again to fill,
But spoke on bravely, glorious lady fair!
Whatever tears her full lips may have drunk,
Spoke out at last with no more trace of shame,
With passionate twisting of her body there:
To dwell at Arthur’s court: at Christmas-time
This happened; when the heralds sung his name,
Along with all the bells that rang that day,
O’er the white roofs, with little change of rhyme.
And over me the April sunshine came,
Made very awful with black hail-clouds, yea
And bowed my head down: Autumn, and the sick
Sure knowledge things would never be the same,
Of blossoms and buds, smote on me, and I grew
Careless of most things, let the clock tick, tick,
My eager body; while I laughed out loud,
And let my lips curl up at false or true,
Behold my judges, then the cloths were brought;
While I was dizzied thus, old thoughts would crowd,
By Arthur’s great name and his little love;
Must I give up for ever then, I thought,
Glorifying all things; for a little word,
Scarce ever meant at all, must I now prove
Will that all folks should be quite happy and good?
I love God now a little, if this cord
Make me love anything in earth or heaven?
So day by day it grew, as if one should
Down to a cool sea on a summer day;
Yet still in slipping there was some small leaven
Until one surely reached the sea at last,
And felt strange new joy as the worn head lay
Sweat of the forehead, dryness of the lips,
Washed utterly out by the dear waves o’ercast,
Do I not know now of a day in Spring?
No minute of that wild day ever slips
And wheresoever I may be, straightway
Thoughts of it all come up with most fresh sting:
And went without my ladies all alone,
In a quiet garden walled round every way;
That shut the flowers and trees up with the sky,
And trebled all the beauty: to the bone,
With weary thoughts, it pierced, and made me glad;
Exceedingly glad, and I knew verily,
I dared not think, as I was wont to do,
Sometimes, upon my beauty; If I had
And, looking on the tenderly darken’d fingers,
Thought that by rights one ought to see quite through,
Round by the edges; what should I have done,
If this had joined with yellow spotted singers,
But shouting, loosed out, see now! all my hair,
And trancedly stood watching the west wind run
I lose my head e’en now in doing this;
But shortly listen: In that garden fair
Wherewith we kissed in meeting that spring day,
When both our mouths went wandering in one way,
And aching sorely, met among the leaves;
Our hands being left behind strained far away.
Had Launcelot come before: and now, so nigh!
After that day why is it Guenevere grieves?
Whatever happened on through all those years,
God knows I speak truth, saying that you lie.
If this were true? A great queen such as I
Having sinn’d this way, straight her conscience sears;
Slaying and poisoning, certes never weeps:
Gauwaine be friends now, speak me lovingly.
All through your frame, and trembles in your mouth?
Remember in what grave your mother sleeps,
Men are forgetting as I speak to you;
By her head sever’d in that awful drouth
I pray your pity! let me not scream out
For ever after, when the shrill winds blow
For ever after in the winter night
When you ride out alone! in battle-rout
Ah! God of mercy, how he turns away!
So, ever must I dress me to the fight,
See me hew down your proofs: yea all men know
Even as you said how Mellyagraunce one day,
All good knights held it after, saw:
Yea, sirs, by cursed unknightly outrage; though
You, Gauwaine, held his word without a flaw,
This Mellyagraunce saw blood upon my bed:
Whose blood then pray you? is there any law
Lie on her coverlet? or will you say:
Your hands are white, lady, as when you wed,
I blush indeed, fair lord, only to rend
My sleeve up to my shoulder, where there lay
The honour of the Lady Guenevere?
Not so, fair lords, even if the world should end
Instead of God. Did you see Mellyagraunce
When Launcelot stood by him? what white fear
His side sink in? as my knight cried and said:
Slayer of unarm’d men, here is a chance!
Setter of traps, I pray you guard your head,
By God I am so glad to fight with you,
Stripper of ladies, that my hand feels lead
For all my wounds are moving in my breast,
And I am getting mad with waiting so.
Who fell down flat, and grovell’d at his feet,
And groan’d at being slain so young: At least,
At catching ladies, half-arm’d will I fight,
My left side all uncovered! then I weet,
Upon his knave’s face; not until just then
Did I quite hate him, as I saw my knight
With such a joyous smile, it made me sigh
From agony beneath my waist-chain, when
The fight began, and to me they drew nigh;
Ever Sir Launcelot kept him on the right,
And traversed warily, and ever high
Sudden threw up his sword to his left hand,
Caught it, and swung it; that was all the fight,
For it was hottest summer; and I know
I wonder’d how the fire, while I should stand,
Yards above my head; thus these matters went;
Which things were only warnings of the woe
For Mellyagraunce had fought against the Lord;
Therefore, my lords, take heed lest you be blent
Against me, being so beautiful; my eyes,
Wept all away to grey, may bring some sword
Like waves of purple sea, as here I stand;
And how my arms are moved in wonderful wise,
See through my long throat how the words go up
In ripples to my mouth; how in my hand
Of marvellously colour’d gold; yea now
This little wind is rising, look you up,
Within my moving tresses: will you dare,
When you have looked a little on my brow,
For any plausible lies of cunning woof,
When you can see my face with no lie there
But in your chamber Launcelot was found:
Is there a good knight then would stand aloof,
O true as steel come now and talk with me,
I love to see your step upon the ground
That gracious smile light up your face, and hear
Your wonderful words, that all mean verily
To me in everything, come here to-night,
Or else the hours will pass most dull and drear;
Get thinking over much of times gone by,
When I was young, and green hope was in sight:
And no man comes to sing me pleasant songs,
Nor any brings me the sweet flowers that lie
To see you, Launcelot; that we may be
Like children once again, free from all wrongs
Just for one night. Did he not come to me?
What thing could keep true Launcelot away
If I said, Come? there was one less than three
Till sudden I rose up, weak, pale, and sick,
Because a bawling broke our dream up, yea
For he looked helpless too, for a little while;
Then I remember how I tried to shriek,
The stones they threw up rattled o’er my head
And made me dizzier; till within a while
On Launcelot’s breast was being soothed away
From its white chattering, until Launcelot said:
Judge any way you will: what matters it?
You know quite well the story of that fray,
How Launcelot still’d their bawling, the mad fit
That caught up Gauwaine: all, all, verily,
But just that which would save me; these things flit.
Whatever may have happen’d these long years,
God knows I speak truth, saying that you lie!
She would not speak another word, but stood
Turn’d sideways; listening, like a man who hears
Of his foes’ lances. She lean’d eagerly,
And gave a slight spring sometimes, as she could
Her cheek grew crimson, as the headlong speed
Of the roan charger drew all men to see,
The knight who came was Launcelot at good need.