Analysis of The Haystack in the Woods

Had she come all the way for this,
    To part at last without a kiss?
    Yea, had she borne the dirt and rain
    That her own eyes might see him slain
    Beside the haystack in the floods?

Along the dripping leafless woods,
    The stirrup touching either shoe,
    She rode astride as troopers do;
    With kirtle kilted to her knee,
  To which the mud splash'd wretchedly;
  And the wet dripp'd from every tree
  Upon her head and heavy hair,
  And on her eyelids broad and fair;
  The tears and rain ran down her face.
  By fits and starts they rode apace,
  And very often was his place
  Far off from her; he had to ride
  Ahead, to see what might betide
  When the roads cross'd; and sometimes, when
  There rose a murmuring from his men
  Had to turn back with promises;
  Ah me! she had but little ease;
  And often for pure doubt and dread
  She sobb'd, made giddy in the head
  By the swift riding; while, for cold,
  Her slender fingers scarce could hold
  The wet reins; yea, and scarcely, too,
  She felt the foot within her shoe
  Against the stirrup: all for this,
  To part at last without a kiss
  Beside the haystack in the floods.

For when they near'd that old soak'd hay,
  They saw across the only way
  That Judas, Godmar, and the three
  Red running lions dismally
  Grinn'd from his pennon, under which
  In one straight line along the ditch,
  They counted thirty heads.

So then
  While Robert turn'd round to his men
  She saw at once the wretched end,
  And, stooping down, tried hard to rend
  Her coif the wrong way from her head,
  And hid her eyes; while Robert said:
  "Nay, love, 'tis scarcely two to one,
  At Poictiers where we made them run
  So fast--why, sweet my love, good cheer,
  The Gascon frontier is so near.
  Naught after this."

But, "Oh!" she said,
  "My God! my God! I have to tread
  The long way back without you; then
  The court at Paris; those six men;
  The gratings of the Chatelet;
  The swift Seine on some rainy day
  Like this, and people standing by
  And laughing, while my weak hands try
  To recollect how strong men swim.
  All this, or else a life with him,
    For which I should be damned at last.
  Would God that this next hour were past!"

He answer'd not, but cried his cry,
  "St. George for Marny!" cheerily;
  And laid his hand upon her rein.
  Alas! no man of all his train
  Gave back that cheery cry again;
  And, while for rage his thumb beat fast
  Upon his sword-hilts, some one cast
  About his neck a kerchief long,
  And bound him.

Then they went along
  To Godmar; who said: "Now, Jehane,
  Your lover's life is on the wane
  So fast, that, if this very hour
  You yield not as my paramour,
  He will not see the rain leave off--
  Nay, keep your tongue from gibe or scoff,
  Sir Robert, or I slay you now."

She laid her hand upon her brow,
  Then gazed upon the palm, as though
  She thought her forehead bled, and--"No!"
  She said, and turn'd her head away,
  As there were nothing else to say,
  And everything were settled: red
  Grew Godmar's face from chin to head:
  "Jehane, on yonder hill there stands
  My castle, guarding well my lands:
  What hinders me from taking you,
  And doing that I list to do
  To your fair wilful body, while
  Your knight lies dead?"

A wicked smile
  Wrinkled her face, her lips grew thin,
  A long way out she thrust her chin:
  "You know that I would strangle you
  While you were sleeping; or bite through
  Your throat, by God's help--ah!" she said,
  "Lord Jesus, pity your poor maid!
  For in such wise they hem me in,
  I cannot choose but sin and sin,
  Whatever happens: yet I think
  They could not make me eat or drink,
  And so should I just reach my rest."
  "Nay, if you do not my behest,
  O Jehane! though I love you well,"
  Said Godmar, "would I fail to tell
  All that I know?" "Foul lies," she said.
  "Eh? lies, my Jehane? by God's head,
  At Paris folks would deem them true!
  Do you know, Jehane, they cry for you:
  'Jehane the brown! Jehane the brown!
  Give us Jehane to burn or drown!'--
  Eh--gag me Robert!--sweet my friend,
  This were indeed a piteous end
  For those long fingers, and long feet,
  And long neck, and smooth shoulders sweet;
  An end that few m