Before the king she bowed and spake:
'King, for thine old faith's plighted sake
To me the lady of the lake,
I come in trust of thee to take
⁠The guerdon of the gift I gave,
Thy sword Excalibur.' And he
Made answer: 'Be it whate'er it be,
If mine to give, I give it thee,
⁠Nor need is thine to crave.'

As when a gleam of wicked light
Turns half a low-lying water bright
That moans beneath the shivering night
With sense of evil sound and sight
⁠And whispering witchcraft's bated breath,
Her wan face quickened as she said:
'This knight that won the sword—his head
I crave or hers that brought it. Dead,
⁠Let these be one in death.'