 | A Sonnet Chronicle |  |
12
To a Dumb Mourner
I do not wonder that our lonely kings,
Fawned on by courtiers whom their souls despise,
Caress the hound that at the footstool lies,
The dove that on the shoulder folds its wings;
For these sincere uncalculating things
Have hearts above such human flatteries,
Love is the lord of all their loyalties,
Of faith is born their fearless communings.
Fawned on by courtiers whom their souls despise,
Caress the hound that at the footstool lies,
The dove that on the shoulder folds its wings;
For these sincere uncalculating things
Have hearts above such human flatteries,
Love is the lord of all their loyalties,
Of faith is born their fearless communings.
To you, dumb mourner, was it given to prove
How trust can bridge the worlds that intervene,
And kindness bind the whole creation one;
You felt the fond hands of the dying Queen
That told how near she held you to the throne,
And blessed in you all creatures of her love.
How trust can bridge the worlds that intervene,
And kindness bind the whole creation one;
You felt the fond hands of the dying Queen
That told how near she held you to the throne,
And blessed in you all creatures of her love.
| A Sonnet Chronicle | |