Page:Troubadour.pdf/88

84

It sparkled, but her jewell'd vest Was crost above a troubled breast: Her curls, with all their sunny glow, Were braided o'er an aching brow: But well she knew how many sought To gaze upon her secret thought;— And Love is proud,—she might not brook That other's on her heart should look. But there she sate, cold, pale, and high, Beneath her purple canopy; And there was many a mutter'd word, And one low whisper'd name was heard,— The name of ,—that name Like some forbidden secret came.

The theme went, that he dared to love One like a star his state above;