**** ROTATE **** **** ROTATE **** **** ROTATE **** **** ROTATE ****

Find this Story

Print, a form you can hold

Wireless download to your Amazon Kindle

Look for a summary or analysis of this Poem.

Enjoy this? Share it!

The Young Princess–A Ballad Of Old Laws Of Love
by [?]


When the South sang like a nightingale
Above a bower in May,
The training of Love’s vine of flame
Was writ in laws, for lord and dame
To say their yea and nay.


When the South sang like a nightingale
Across the flowering night,
And lord and dame held gentle sport,
There came a young princess to Court,
A frost of beauty white.


The South sang like a nightingale
To thaw her glittering dream:
No vine of Love her bosom gave,
She drank no wine of Love, but grave
She held them to Love’s theme.


The South grew all a nightingale
Beneath a moon unmoved:
Like the banner of war she led them on;
She left them to lie, like the light that has gone
From wine-cups overproved.


When the South was a fervid nightingale,
And she a chilling moon,
‘Twas pity to see on the garden swards,
Against Love’s laws, those rival lords
As willow-wands lie strewn.


The South had throat of a nightingale
For her, the young princess:
She gave no vine of Love to rear,
Love’s wine drank not, yet bent her ear
To themes of Love no less.


The lords of the Court they sighed heart-sick,
Heart-free Lord Dusiote laughed:
I prize her no more than a fling o’ the dice,
But, or shame to my manhood, a lady of ice,
We master her by craft!


Heart-sick the lords of joyance yawned,
Lord Dusiote laughed heart-free:
I count her as much as a crack o’ my thumb,
But, or shame of my manhood, to me she shall come
Like the bird to roost in the tree!


At dead of night when the palace-guard
Had passed the measured rounds,
The young princess awoke to feel
A shudder of blood at the crackle of steel
Within the garden-bounds.


It ceased, and she thought of whom was need,
The friar or the leech;
When lo, stood her tirewoman breathless by:
Lord Dusiote, madam, to death is nigh,
Of you he would have speech.


He prays you of your gentleness,
To light him to his dark end.
The princess rose, and forth she went,
For charity was her intent,
Devoutly to befriend.


Lord Dusiote hung on his good squire’s arm,
The priest beside him knelt:
A weeping handkerchief was pressed
To stay the red flood at his breast,
And bid cold ladies melt.


O lady, though you are ice to men,
All pure to heaven as light
Within the dew within the flower,
Of you ’tis whispered that love has power
When secret is the night.


I have silenced the slanderers, peace to their souls!
Save one was too cunning for me.
I die, whose love is late avowed,
He lives, who boasts the lily has bowed
To the oath of a bended knee.


Lord Dusiote drew breath with pain,
And she with pain drew breath:
On him she looked, on his like above;
She flew in the folds of a marvel of love
Revealed to pass to death.


You are dying, O great-hearted lord,
You are dying for me, she cried;
O take my hand, O take my kiss,
And take of your right for love like this,
The vow that plights me bride.


She bade the priest recite his words
While hand in hand were they,
Lord Dusiote’s soul to waft to bliss;
He had her hand, her vow, her kiss,
And his body was borne away.


Lord Dusiote sprang from priest and squire;
He gazed at her lighted room:
The laughter in his heart grew slack;
He knew not the force that pushed him back
From her and the morn in bloom.