Page:Poet Lore, volume 21, 1910.djvu/478

 Votava (giving his hand to ).—Well, so good by, comrade, and as I say, you have done excellently. (Goes after them.) (Quiet., and are gone. After a while the rumbling of a departing carriage is heard.)

Kocianova (returns after a while).—Petrichek, my golden Petrichek. (She hurries to him.) Well, Petrichek, what are you looking at so sadly?

Petr (quietly).—I—am—looking—at those—clouds.

The princess has her lovers,
 * A score of knights has she,

And each can sing a madrigal,
 * And praise her gracefully.

But Love, who is so bitter,
 * Hath put within her heart

A longing for the scornful knight
 * Who, silent, stands apart.

And though the others praise and plead,
 * She maketh no reply,

Yet for a single word from him
 * I ween that she would die.