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An Old Story
“I MUST be ready when he comes,” she said,
“Besieger of the heart, the long adored;
And I shall know him by his regal tread,
And by the grace peculiar to my lord.
Upon my mouth his lips shall be a sword;
Splendid is he by whom this breast shall fall,
This hive of honey burst, this fruit be cored.”—
So beauty that would be a willing thrall
Kept vigil, eyes aglow, ear tuned to hear his call.
“Besieger of the heart, the long adored;
And I shall know him by his regal tread,
And by the grace peculiar to my lord.
Upon my mouth his lips shall be a sword;
Splendid is he by whom this breast shall fall,
This hive of honey burst, this fruit be cored.”—
So beauty that would be a willing thrall
Kept vigil, eyes aglow, ear tuned to hear his call.
Had she not had her dream, she might have seen
For what he was the stranger at her gate,
And known his rugged hands, strong mouth, and lean
Hawk-face spelled out for her a star-spun fate.
But captive to a dream she let him wait
In vain for any word she might have said
Whereat he might declare himself her mate.
For what he was the stranger at her gate,
And known his rugged hands, strong mouth, and lean
Hawk-face spelled out for her a star-spun fate.
But captive to a dream she let him wait
In vain for any word she might have said
Whereat he might declare himself her mate.
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