Page:The poems of Edmund Clarence Stedman, 1908.djvu/328

THE BLAMELESS PRINCE And wear the priestly cincture;—last, to own,

When the morn's dream is gone and noontide waste,

Some fate still kept ye from your purpose sweet,

Down strange, circuitous paths it drew your feet!"

Thus far she read, and, "Let me read no more,"

She clamored, "since the scales have left mine eyes

And freed the dreadful gift I lacked before!

We are but puppets, in whatever guise

They clothe us, to whatever tune we move;

Albeit we prate of duty, dream of love.

My life from hope, and look beneath the mask

To read the masker! I, who was a Queen,

And like a hireling thought to 'scape my task!

For some few seasons left this heart is schooled:

Yet,—had it been a little longer fooled,—

The gentle sovereign of that spacious land

Lay prone beneath the bauble of her crown,

Nor heard all night her whispering ladies stand

Outside the portal. Greatly, in the morn,

They marvelled at her visage wan and worn.

when the sun was high, the populace

By every gateway filled the roads, and sought

The martial plain, within whose central space

That wonder of the Prince's tomb was wrought.

Thereto from out the nearer land there passed

The mingled folk, an eager throng and vast;

Knights, commons, men and women, young and old,

The present and the promise of the realm. 298