Page:The poems of Edmund Clarence Stedman, 1908.djvu/85

ALICE OF MONMOUTH XVII

1

no armor, timid heart;

Fear no keen misfortune's dart,

Want, nor scorn, nor secret blow

Dealt thee by thy mortal foe.

2

Let the Fates their weapons wield,

For a wondrous woven shield

Shall be given thee, erelong.

Mesh of gold were not so strong;

Not so soft were silken shred;

Not so fine the spider's thread

Barring the enchanted door

In that tale of ancient lore,

Guarding, silently and well,

All within the mystic cell.

Such a shield, where'er thou art,

Shall be thine, O wounded heart!

From the ills that compass thee

Thou behind it shalt be free;

Envy, slander, malice, all

Shall withdraw them from thy—Pall.

3

Build no house with patient care,

Fair to view, and strong as fair;

Walled with noble deeds' renown;

Shining over field and town,

Seen from land and sea afar,

Proud in peace, secure in war.

For the moments never sleep,

Building thee a castle-keep,—

Proof alike 'gainst heat and cold, 55