 | I. |
| II. |
| III. |
 | IV. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
| XXXII. |
| XXXIII. |
| XXXIV. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| XXXVIII. |
| XXXIX. |
| XL. |
| XLI. |
| XLII. |
| XLIII. |
| XLIV. |
| XLV. |
| XLVI. |
| XLVII. |
| XLVIII. |
| XLIX. |
| L. |
| LI. |
| LII. |
| LIII. |
| LIV. |
| LV. |
| LVI. |
| LVII. |
| LVIII. |
| LIX. |
| LX. |
| LXI. |
| LXII. |
| LXIII. |
| LXIV. |
| LXV. |
| LXVI. |
| LXVII. |
| LXVIII. |
| LXIX. |
| LXX. |
| LXXI. |
| LXXII. |
| LXXIII. |
| LXXIV. |
| LXXV. |
| LXXVI. |
| III. |
|
| V. |
| VI. |
 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
A rapid glance
The counsel-loving King around him cast,
The award of all instinctively descried
(Unkingly faculty, and yet his chiefest).
He spake: ‘The coronation feast attends;
We'll treat of this to-morrow.’ As he spake
On the Maid's brow fell shade till then unseen.
Next morning, ere that weariness and chill
Which follows fierce excitements had dispersed
The weight of many a war-field on her still,
Dunois approached the Maid. ‘The war without you,’
He said, ‘will turn to wreck.’—From the sweet lip
Came answer sad. ‘Dunois! It may not be!
Orleans is free: the King is crowned at Rheims:
These were my Mission: nought was given beside:
A year ends all.’
The counsel-loving King around him cast,
The award of all instinctively descried
(Unkingly faculty, and yet his chiefest).
He spake: ‘The coronation feast attends;
We'll treat of this to-morrow.’ As he spake
On the Maid's brow fell shade till then unseen.
Next morning, ere that weariness and chill
Which follows fierce excitements had dispersed
The weight of many a war-field on her still,
346
He said, ‘will turn to wreck.’—From the sweet lip
Came answer sad. ‘Dunois! It may not be!
Orleans is free: the King is crowned at Rheims:
These were my Mission: nought was given beside:
A year ends all.’
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |