 | Poems |  |
53
THE QUEEN.
A FIRE-SIDE SONG.
Yes, wife, I'd be a thronèd king,
That you might share my royal seat,
That titled beauty I might bring
And princes' homage to your feet.
How quickly, then, would nobles see
Your courtly grace—your regal mien;
Even duchesses all blind should be
To flaw or speck in you, their Queen.
That you might share my royal seat,
That titled beauty I might bring
And princes' homage to your feet.
How quickly, then, would nobles see
Your courtly grace—your regal mien;
Even duchesses all blind should be
To flaw or speck in you, their Queen.
Poor wish! O wife, a queen you are,
To whose feet many a subject brings
A truer homage, nobler far
Than bends before the thrones of kings.
You rule a realm, wife, in this heart
Where not one rebel fancy's seen,
Where hopes and smiles, how joyous! start
To own the sway of you, their Queen.
To whose feet many a subject brings
A truer homage, nobler far
Than bends before the thrones of kings.
You rule a realm, wife, in this heart
Where not one rebel fancy's seen,
Where hopes and smiles, how joyous! start
To own the sway of you, their Queen.
How loyal are my thoughts by day!
How faithful is each dream of night!
Not one but lives but to obey
Your rule,—to serve you, its delight;
My hours—each instant—every breath
Are, wife, as all have ever been,
Your slaves, to serve you unto death;
O wife, you are indeed a Queen!
How faithful is each dream of night!
Not one but lives but to obey
Your rule,—to serve you, its delight;
My hours—each instant—every breath
Are, wife, as all have ever been,
Your slaves, to serve you unto death;
O wife, you are indeed a Queen!
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