Poems (Forrest)/The king lays sick
THE KING LAY SICK
The King lay sick in the eastern tower—
'Twas the Queen herself who tended him,
Left her taboret in her northern bower
To cool his lips at a goblet's rim,
With her pearl-sewn sleeve held his dark head up
That on healing simples the King might sup.
'Twas the Queen herself who tended him,
Left her taboret in her northern bower
To cool his lips at a goblet's rim,
With her pearl-sewn sleeve held his dark head up
That on healing simples the King might sup.
The Cardinal came in his scarlet gown
To intercede with his God above—
For the Cardinal's God who on earth looks down,
He does not know as a God of Love,
So he bade the courtiers cringe and pray
That the monarch's sickness might pass away.
To intercede with his God above—
For the Cardinal's God who on earth looks down,
He does not know as a God of Love,
So he bade the courtiers cringe and pray
That the monarch's sickness might pass away.
Grave doctors rustled in velvet cloak
With ebon stick and learned mouth
Till the King from a fevered stupor woke
And cried of a window facing south:
Of wild red roses like scented flame,
And his pillow muffled a foolish name!
With ebon stick and learned mouth
Till the King from a fevered stupor woke
And cried of a window facing south:
Of wild red roses like scented flame,
And his pillow muffled a foolish name!
So they called the Queen from the low prie-Dieu
Where she held a candle of finest wax,
Tho' a wind from the rainy fields crept thro'
With a whiff of hawthorn and beaten flax:
And the King once more let his raised hand fall
As he turned his face to the arrased wall.
Where she held a candle of finest wax,
Tho' a wind from the rainy fields crept thro'
With a whiff of hawthorn and beaten flax:
And the King once more let his raised hand fall
As he turned his face to the arrased wall.
The young Prince fretted for hawk and hound,
And bit his knuckle and drummed a heel:
'Twas the longest waiting his youth had found,
He began to ponder how sceptres feel:
The thought was dull . . . for wild-woods are green
And a gipsy wench may not make a Queen!
And bit his knuckle and drummed a heel:
'Twas the longest waiting his youth had found,
He began to ponder how sceptres feel:
The thought was dull . . . for wild-woods are green
And a gipsy wench may not make a Queen!
And the Queen, who never had loved the King,
Hid secret dreams as the taper burned,
For the Prince, her son, was a weak-willed thing,
And a likely Regent her heart discerned;
But the foul reproach none should ever bring
That she lacked in duty towards her King.
Hid secret dreams as the taper burned,
For the Prince, her son, was a weak-willed thing,
And a likely Regent her heart discerned;
But the foul reproach none should ever bring
That she lacked in duty towards her King.
So she grudged herself e'en a moment's sleep
While she measured physics and spiced the wine,
And she knew exactly how much to weep
For a loving wife is a clinging vine:
And she proved what a loyal heart can bear
When the sick King frowned as he saw her there!
While she measured physics and spiced the wine,
And she knew exactly how much to weep
For a loving wife is a clinging vine:
And she proved what a loyal heart can bear
When the sick King frowned as he saw her there!
From the dreary wastes of the blackened plain
With her eyes like night and her hair like flame
Thro' the unspent fury of wind and rain,
The King's Sweetheart from the forest came,
In her cotton shift was no warmth at all
But she stood all night at the palace wall:
With her eyes like night and her hair like flame
Thro' the unspent fury of wind and rain,
The King's Sweetheart from the forest came,
In her cotton shift was no warmth at all
But she stood all night at the palace wall:
When the wan wild sun in the hills had set
And the hooting owl from its caverns drew,
While the dwarfs of the tempest spread their net
To steal a star that the clouds let thro'
With her small palms pressed to the wall's wet moss
And her arms outspread till she made a cross:
And the hooting owl from its caverns drew,
While the dwarfs of the tempest spread their net
To steal a star that the clouds let thro'
With her small palms pressed to the wall's wet moss
And her arms outspread till she made a cross:
She heard the watchman call the hour,
She heard the chanting at evensong,
Heard them changing guard in the eastern tower
And stood there, rigid, the whole night long,
She spiced no cup—and she prayed no prayer—
But I think her God saw her vigil there.
She heard the chanting at evensong,
Heard them changing guard in the eastern tower
And stood there, rigid, the whole night long,
She spiced no cup—and she prayed no prayer—
But I think her God saw her vigil there.