Page:The poems of Emma Lazarus volume 1.djvu/285

Rh Ah, mine angel-child! I cannot choose but dread it, though I wait Expectant of the hour when you fulfil Your woman s destiny. You have full freedom; Yet I rejoice at this reprieve, and thank thee For thy brave truthfulness. Be ever thus, Withholding naught from him whose heart reflects Only thine image. Thou art still my pride, Even as last night when all eyes gazed thy way, Thy bearing equal in disdainful grace To his who courted thee—thy sovereign’s son.

Yea, so ? And yet it was not pride I felt, Nor consciousness of self, nor vain delight In the world’s envy; something more than these, Far deeper, sweeter What have I said? My brain Is dull with sleep. T is only now I feel The weariness of so much pleasure.

Well, Go we within. Yes, I am late to work ; We squander precious moments. Thou, go rest, And waken with fresh roses in thy cheeks, To greet our royal guest. [Exeunt.