Page:Collected poems Robinson, Edwin Arlington.djvu/267

 "I might as well have left him in his grave, As he would say it, saying what was true, As death is true. This Merlin is not mine, But Vivian's. My crown is less than hers, And I am less than woman to this man." Then Merlin, as one reading Arthur's words On viewless tablets in the air before him: "Now, Arthur, since you are a child of mine- A foster-child, and that's a kind of child Be not from hearsay or despair too eager To dash your meat with bitter seasoning, So none that are more famished than yourself Shall have what you refuse. For you are King, And if you starve yourself, you starve the state; And then by sundry looks and silences Of those you loved, and by the lax regard Of those you knew for fawning enemies, You may learn soon that you are King no more, But a slack, blasted, and sad-fronted man, Made sadder with a crown. No other friend Than I could say this to you, and say more; And if you bid me say no more, so be it." The King, who sat with folded arms, now bowed His head and felt, unfought and all aflame Like immanent hell-fire, the wretchedness That only those who are to lead may feel— And only they when they are maimed and worn Too sore to covet without shuddering The fixed impending eminence where death Itself were victory, could they but lead TJnbitten by the serpents they had fed. Turning, he spoke : "Merlin, you say the truth: There is no man who could say more to me