The Knightes Tale

She greets the lily on the stalk;She shakes the soft hair from her brows;She wavers down the garden walkBeneath the bloomy boughs.She is the slenderest of maids;Her fair face strikes you like a star;The great stone tower her pathway shades--The prison where the Princes are.Across the dewy pleasance falls,All in the clear May morning light,The shadow of those evil wallsThat look so black by night.

She is so glad, so wild a thing,Her heart sings like the lark all day;The unhooded falcon on the wingIs not more freely gay.In sun and wind doth she rejoice,And blithely drinks the airy blue,Yet loves the solemn pines that voiceThe grief she never knew.

In silence of the woods apartHer sure swift step the Dryads know;Full oft she speeds the bounding hart,And draws the bending bow.Fine gleams across her spirit dart,And never living soul, saith she,Could make her choose for aye to loseHer own sweet company.

But sometimes, when the moon is bright,So bright it almost drowns the stars,She thinks how some have lost delightBehind the prison bars.It makes her sad a little space,And casts a shadow on her look,As branches in a woody placeDo flicker on a brook.

Last night she had a dream of men,Dark faces strange with keen desire;She heard the blaring trumpet then,She saw the shields strike fire.The pomp of plumes, the crack of spears,Beyond her happy circle lie:Thank Heaven! she has but eighteen years,And loves the daisies and the sky.And yet across her garden falls,All in the clear May morning light,The shadow of the prison wallsThat look so black by night.