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 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
She heard a voice well known, but saw no shape:
‘Maid, more a maid than all the maids of France
Who ever kissed, then plucked, her fleur-de-lys,
Leave on that bank thy crook of shepherdess,
That lamb whose head is couched upon thy knee.
Get thee to Chinon: heedless there abides
Thy prince, a weakling 'mid a wanton court.
Tell him that, since nor valiant man nor wise
Avails to raise him to his father's throne,
God lays on thee that mission—thee who ne'er
Hast lifted sword, since strength is God's alone.
To Vaucouleurs! There speak with Baudricourt.’
‘Maid, more a maid than all the maids of France
Who ever kissed, then plucked, her fleur-de-lys,
Leave on that bank thy crook of shepherdess,
That lamb whose head is couched upon thy knee.
Get thee to Chinon: heedless there abides
Thy prince, a weakling 'mid a wanton court.
Tell him that, since nor valiant man nor wise
Avails to raise him to his father's throne,
God lays on thee that mission—thee who ne'er
Hast lifted sword, since strength is God's alone.
To Vaucouleurs! There speak with Baudricourt.’
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |