The stern arm of Primrose the princess
Draws back the shattered lines of the army,
The accurate extent of her outstretched hand
Sweeping clear the field of our defeat
Before the standing walls of Luddington,
Within whose walls traitorous men still plot.
Her face, turned up almost in prayer,
The inclined curve within her fingers
Stretching high towards heaven
In supplication nearly more than martial instruction,
Reminds me of the love I left in Camelot.
O Blanchefleur! that you might be here,
Sharing what joy I find in my unhesitating service
Rather than ever holding with me from afar the bitterness
Of what could not but will be yet some day.
This poem is somewhat difficult to categorize. From the identity of the speaker and the character he addresses at the end, it is plainly at least connected to my poems around the Arthuriad, but it is set in my main storyline. I’ve now also posted this on my wiki. And as always, your feedback of any kind (though the more substantial the better) is eagerly requested and greatly appreciated.