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 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
The King agreed,
And she, that sad, sweet lady clothed in black
Advancing clasped in hers the Maid's slight hands;
Then looking on them said: ‘No ring; so best!’
Thus adding: ‘Maid, be guest and friend this night
Of one not rich in friends.’ But near a casement—
Through it a low wind brushed at times her harp—
Sat Agnes Sorel with sad eyes averse
Fixed on a glittering stream that girt remote
Her little islet home ablaze with flowers,
A place of tombs hard by.
And she, that sad, sweet lady clothed in black
Advancing clasped in hers the Maid's slight hands;
Then looking on them said: ‘No ring; so best!’
Thus adding: ‘Maid, be guest and friend this night
Of one not rich in friends.’ But near a casement—
Through it a low wind brushed at times her harp—
Sat Agnes Sorel with sad eyes averse
Fixed on a glittering stream that girt remote
Her little islet home ablaze with flowers,
A place of tombs hard by.
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |