Page:The poems of Edmund Clarence Stedman, 1908.djvu/309

THE BLAMELESS PRINCE And, as again he reached the spot he sought,

Truth, fame, his child, the Queen, were all as naught.

Dismounting then, he pushed afoot, between

The alder saplings, to the outer wood,

The grounds, the garden-walks, and found, unseen,

A private door, nor tarried till he stood

Within the threshold of my Lady's room,—

A shadowed nook, all stillness and perfume.

Jasmine and briony the lattice climbed,

The rose and honeysuckle trailed above;

'T was such an hour as poets oft have rhymed,

And such a chamber as all lovers love.

He found her there, and at her footstool knelt.

Each in the other's fancies had so dwelt,

That, as one sees for days a sweet strange face,

Until at night in dreams he does caress

Its owner, and next morning in some place

Meets her, and wonders if she too can guess

How near and known he thinks her,—in this wise

They read one story in each other's eyes.

Her thick hair falling from its lilies hid

Their first long kiss of passion and content.

He heard her soft, glad murmur, as she slid

Within his hold, and 'gainst his bosom leant,

Whispering: "At last! at last! the years were sore."

What else, when mingled longings swell full-tide,

And the heart's surges leap their bounds for aye,

And fell the landmarks? What but fate defied,

Time clutched, and any future held at bay?

They recked not of the thorn, but seized the flower;

For all the sin, their joy was great that hour.

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