 | Claribel and Other Poems |  |
190
A ROMANCE
‘O sister! leave your broidery-frame;
Come to the window, Dear!
Be quick: I hear them shout his name;
The music draweth near.’—
She leaneth o'er her broidery-frame,
Her tears are dropping fast;
She heedeth not the glad acclaim,
Nor the triumph thronging past.
Come to the window, Dear!
Be quick: I hear them shout his name;
The music draweth near.’—
She leaneth o'er her broidery-frame,
Her tears are dropping fast;
She heedeth not the glad acclaim,
Nor the triumph thronging past.
‘O Sister! look,— how grand they ride;
Come to the window, Sweet!
Be quick: the king is at his side,
They're coming down the street.’—
She leaneth o'er her broidery-frame,
Her tears are dropping fast;
She heedeth not the pomp of fame,
Nor the banners flaunting past.
Come to the window, Sweet!
Be quick: the king is at his side,
They're coming down the street.’—
She leaneth o'er her broidery-frame,
Her tears are dropping fast;
She heedeth not the pomp of fame,
Nor the banners flaunting past.
‘The sun smiles on their blazonry:
Come, Dear! or they'll be gone.
Be quick—his eyes are seeking me,—
My own Victorious One!’—
She lifts her brow; 'tis flush'd with shame;
‘He was my wooer last.’
She lieth dead by her broidery-frame,
Ere the knight hath ridden past.
Come, Dear! or they'll be gone.
Be quick—his eyes are seeking me,—
My own Victorious One!’—
191
‘He was my wooer last.’
She lieth dead by her broidery-frame,
Ere the knight hath ridden past.
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