THE KING AND THE MAID

“O love” — cried the King

On a day in spring,

As he went through the leafy wood —

“I must be away

To the court this day!”

And he threw back the purple hood

From his royal brow

That was paling now

With the pain of the parting hour:

For the maid was dear,

And her lips were near

To his lips, like a crimson flower.

“I shall be alone

On a gilded throne

In the midst of my nobles all;

From my diadem

To my garment's hem,

I shall ache for your light footfall:

‘ Tis no little thing,

Dear, to be a king

With love of a man for a maid,

And to play the part

With an empty heart,

Like a scabbard without its blade.”

But the maid was wise,

And her hazel eyes

Were brave with the light of her love:

“God save thee, my King,

From great suffering,

Grant thee of His grace from above!

Canst thou play thy part

With an empty heart,

If I fill it full to the brim

Of the wine of prayer

From the bowl I bear?”

And his eyes with the tears were dim!

“On that ivory throne

Shalt thou be alone,

If my thoughts are a-wing to thee;

If upon thy brow

That is paling now,

My lips mark where the crown shall be?”

So the King rode south

From her crimson mouth

Through the forest, field and the fells;

And his voice was strong

With words of a song

To a chime of the bridle-bells.