Rudel and the Lady of Tripoli
His lady's portrait each has ta'en.
And dashed it on the board.
Then lightly laugheth Geoffrey Rudel
And counts the treasured hoard.
He lifts them up and lays them down
With fingers nimble and deft;
He lifts them up and lays them down
Till only one is left.
There's only a twist of silver
About a parchment skin,
That's lain so close against a heart
The colour's worn and thin.
There's only a twist of foreign wire
There's only a faded face . . .
What ails, what ails Geoffrey Rudel?
He has fallen from his place.
He's fallen plumb across the board
Without a word or sign;
The golden curls that hide his face
Are dabbled in the wine.
He's fallen numb and dumb as death,
While all the princes stare—
Then up one old Crusading Knight
Arose, and touched his hair:
"Rudel, Rudel, Geoffrey Rudel,
Give me her picture back!
Without her face against my breast
The world grows dim and black.
"Rudel, Rudel, Geoffrey Rudel,
Give back my life to me!
Or I will kill you, Geoffrey Rudel
And take it desperately!"
295
