He, when the labor of the day was done,

Moved through the dusk, among the dewy leaves,

And, darker than the shadows, scaled the wall,

And waited in the garden, crouching down

Among the foliage of the fragrant trees,

Hoping that she again might come that way.

He saw her through the window of the house,

Pass and repass, and heard her sweetly sing

A tender song of love and pity blent;

But would not call to her, nor give a sign

That he was there; to see her was enough.

Perhaps, if those about her knew he came

To meet her in the garden, they would place

Some punishment upon her, some restraint,

That she, though innocent, might have to bear.

So he passed back again to his low cot,

And on his poor straw pallet, dreamed of her,

As loyally perhaps as Chastelard,

Lying asleep upon his palace couch,

Dreamed of Queen Mary, and the love he gave.

 Prev. P 44/151 next