MARGARET.
145
The lionsouled Plantagenet
Sang looking thro' his prison bars?
Exquisite Margaret, who can tell
The last wild thought of Chatelet,
Just ere the falling axe did part
The burning brain from the true heart,
Even in her sight he loved so well?
Sang looking thro' his prison bars?
Exquisite Margaret, who can tell
The last wild thought of Chatelet,
Just ere the falling axe did part
The burning brain from the true heart,
Even in her sight he loved so well?
A fairy shield your Genius made
And gave you on your natal day.
Your sorrow, only sorrow's shade,
Keeps real sorrow far away.
You move not in such solitudes,
You are not less divine,
But more human in your moods,
Than your twinsister, Adeline.[1]
Your hair is darker, and your eyes
Touched with a somewhat darker hue,
And more aërially blue,
And gave you on your natal day.
Your sorrow, only sorrow's shade,
Keeps real sorrow far away.
You move not in such solitudes,
You are not less divine,
But more human in your moods,
Than your twinsister, Adeline.[1]
Your hair is darker, and your eyes
Touched with a somewhat darker hue,
And more aërially blue,
- ↑ Poems chiefly Lyrical.
