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 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
Those hard by
Clapped hands obsequious in enthusiasm.
All save Dunois. In silence stood the Maid
A little bowed with palms upon her breast;
While Agnes Sorel glancing from afar
With sideway forehead leaning on her harp
In tone her royal lover could not hear
Spake splenetic; ‘Yon girl's foot-bare! Alas!
I fear those rushes hurt her dainty feet!’
Last Citaux's hoary Abbot rose; he spake:
‘Sir and my King, at Poitiers three days hence
A spiritual Council meets honouring that field
Whereon Charles Martel smote that Moslem host
Else lords ere now of earth! That Maid send thither.
They'll speak the truth as Martel fought for truth;
No ambling half-breeds they!’
Clapped hands obsequious in enthusiasm.
All save Dunois. In silence stood the Maid
A little bowed with palms upon her breast;
While Agnes Sorel glancing from afar
With sideway forehead leaning on her harp
In tone her royal lover could not hear
Spake splenetic; ‘Yon girl's foot-bare! Alas!
I fear those rushes hurt her dainty feet!’
Last Citaux's hoary Abbot rose; he spake:
‘Sir and my King, at Poitiers three days hence
A spiritual Council meets honouring that field
Whereon Charles Martel smote that Moslem host
Else lords ere now of earth! That Maid send thither.
They'll speak the truth as Martel fought for truth;
No ambling half-breeds they!’
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |