 | Poems by Julia C. R. Dorr |  |
440
THE KING'S TOUCH
“The King's touch—there is magic in it!
When the early dawn in the east is red,
And I hear the song of the lark and linnet,
I will rise like a wraith from my sleepless bed.
When the early dawn in the east is red,
And I hear the song of the lark and linnet,
I will rise like a wraith from my sleepless bed.
“Then wrapped in a cloak of hodden gray
I will steal like a shadow over the hills,
And down where the pendulous willows sway,
And the rich, ripe grape its scent distils—
I will steal like a shadow over the hills,
And down where the pendulous willows sway,
And the rich, ripe grape its scent distils—
“Till I reach the edge of the forest wide;
And there will I bide, where the still shades are,
Till the King and his huntsmen forth do ride,
And the sweet wild horn rings out afar.
And there will I bide, where the still shades are,
Till the King and his huntsmen forth do ride,
And the sweet wild horn rings out afar.
“I will wait and listen until I see
The nodding plumes of the merry men
And the glancing pennants floating free,
A gleam of light in the lonely glen.
The nodding plumes of the merry men
And the glancing pennants floating free,
A gleam of light in the lonely glen.
“Then low in the dust at his royal feet
I will kneel for the touch of his healing hand;
Perchance he will give ere I entreat,
Before I cry he may understand!
I will kneel for the touch of his healing hand;
Perchance he will give ere I entreat,
Before I cry he may understand!
“The King's proud Leech will be there I trow—
A wise old man with a reverent air—
And the laughing courtiers, row on row;
Yet not unto them will I make my prayer.
A wise old man with a reverent air—
And the laughing courtiers, row on row;
Yet not unto them will I make my prayer.
441
“'Tis the King, the King, who will know it all.
His eye will discover the wound concealed;
He will bend to hear me before I call.
Whom the King touches shall be healed!”
His eye will discover the wound concealed;
He will bend to hear me before I call.
Whom the King touches shall be healed!”
Was the maiden cured? Ah, none can tell!
She was dust and ashes long ago,
With the proud young king and his leech as well,
And the smiling courtiers, row on row.
She was dust and ashes long ago,
With the proud young king and his leech as well,
And the smiling courtiers, row on row.
But whether the dawn in the east be red,
Or whether the stars bloom out afield,
This truth remaineth, tho' myths lie dead:
“Whom the King touches shall be healed!”
Or whether the stars bloom out afield,
This truth remaineth, tho' myths lie dead:
“Whom the King touches shall be healed!”
| Poems by Julia C. R. Dorr | |