Page:The poems of Edmund Clarence Stedman, 1908.djvu/326

THE BLAMELESS PRINCE To hear it told. I am of God accurst!

Of all his hated, may he smite thee first!"

With that wild speech she fled, nor looked behind,

Hasting to get her from that fearful room,

Past the meek nuns in wait. These did not find

The sick one's eyes—yet staring through the gloom,

While her hands fumbled at her heart, and Death

Made her limbs quake, and combated her breath—

More dreadful than the Queen's look, as she thence

Made through the court, and reached her own array

She knew not how, and clamored, "Bear me hence!"

And, even as her chariot moved away,

High o'er the Abbey heard the minster toll

Its doleful bell, as for a passing soul.

Though midst her guardsmen, as they speeded back,

The wont of royalty maintained her still,

Where grief had been were ruin now and rack!

The firm earth reeled about, nor could her will

Make it seem stable, while her soul went through

Her wedded years in desperate review.

The air seemed full of lies; the realm, unsound;

Her courtiers, knaves; her maidens, good and fair,

Most shameless bawds; her children clung around

Like asps, to sting her; from the kingdom's heir,

Shuddering, she turned her face,—his features took

A shining horror from his father's look.

Along her city streets the thrifty crowd,

As the Queen passed, their loving reverence made.

So flung her from her chariot, and forbade

All words, but waved her ladies back, and gained

Her inmost room, and by herself remained.

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