Page:The poems of Edmund Clarence Stedman, 1908.djvu/325

THE BLAMELESS PRINCE Wherewith he dulled what appetite is born,

Of the gross kind, in men. His nobler mood

You knew not! How, shall I,—the fountain life

Of yonder children,—his embosomed wife,

Sin-smitten harlot's gage of an hour's shame,

Misdoubt him?"—"Yes, I was his harlot,—yes,

God help me! and had worn the loathly name

Before the world, to have him in that guise!"

"Queen, if you loved him, save me from your bane,

As something that was dear to him you loved!"

Then from beneath her serge she took the chain

Which, long ago in that lone wood, the Prince

Hung round her,—she had never loosed it since,—

And gave therewith the face which, in its years

Of youthful, sunniest grace, a limner drew;

And unsigned letters, darkened with her tears,

Writ in the hand that hapless sovereign knew

Too well;—then told the whole, strange, secret tale,

As if with Heaven that penance could avail,

Or with the Queen, who heard as idols list

The mad priest's cry, nor changed her place nor moaned.

But, clutching those mute tokens of each tryst,

Hid them about her. But the other groaned:

Then take them all! once, only!"—At that cry

The Queen strode forward with an awful stride,

And seized the dying one, and bore her down,

And rose her height, and said, "Thou shouldst have died

Ere telling this, nor I have worn a crown 295