Pictures in Rhyme/The Icicle Queen
THE ICICLE QUEEN
Tall and stately, cold and fair,
She sits enthroned on an ivory chair,
And the sunlight is crisp in her yellow hair.
Cold, cold—so cold, in her haughty mien,
Men call her the 'Icicle Queen.'
They say she's no heart, or, if she has one,
'Tis made from a block of marble stone.
But I know there's a heart 'neath her stiff brocade—
A heart for home use, not a heart for parade.
Look close, look close; I can see it beat
And throb 'gainst her busk;
Whilst, sweet as musk,
Is the tremulous breath she draws between
Her pearly teeth, save by me unseen,
And her cheeks are flushed, but not with the heat
Love is called blind, and I love her—I!
But my eyesight is sharpened by jealousy.
Lovers come wooing this Northern Queen;
I have watched them come, I have watched them go,
Seven long years, through heat, through snow,
But I never saw yet what to-day I have seen.
Nay, 'twas not the ball-lights' fitful glow
That dazzled my sight—I saw aright
That flush in a moment come and go.
I am only her fool, misshapen, thin,
Sour, and old; I caper and grin,
My back is humpbowed, but my mind is keen,
And I sharpen my wit on the courtier-crowd.
They laugh; but she only smiles—does my queen.
••••••
Ah! the closest wards own a master-key,
And he is to bear her across the sea;
Whilst I, her fool, must be laid on the shelf,
For she wears my motley now herself—
Ha! ha! ha! ha ! does the Icicle Queen.