Page:The poems of Emma Lazarus volume 1.djvu/268

254 Did you not find me hasty, over-bold? Nay, tell me all your thought.

You know, my lord, I am no courtier, and belike my thought Might prove too rustic for a royal ear.

Speak on, speak on! Though you should rail, your voice would still outsing Rebeck and mandoline.

Is it not strange? I knew you not, albeit I might have guessed, If only from the simple garb of black, And golden collar, midst the motley hues Of our gay nobles. I know not what besides, But this first won me. Be not angered, sir; But, as I looked, I never ranked you higher Than simple gentleman. I asked your name; Then, when your Highness stooped to pick my flower, My lord, that moment was my thought a traitor, For it had fain discrowned you.

May God’s angels Reward such treason. Say me those words again.