66
IF I WERE A QUEEN.
Or be the Italian, widowed, when
She, in a garret at Cologne,
Starved, a grey exile, shunned of men,
If I were a Queen?
She, in a garret at Cologne,
Starved, a grey exile, shunned of men,
If I were a Queen?
What Queen? Titania—since it seems
A woman never quite can tire
Of kissing long, fair ears! In dreams
My Gentle Joy I will admire,
And—but there is no Fairyland
Left in the crowded world, no room
For dew, for anything but sand.
Put out the moonshine, fold the bloom.
My feet could find no space to stand,
If I were a Queen.
A woman never quite can tire
Of kissing long, fair ears! In dreams
My Gentle Joy I will admire,
And—but there is no Fairyland
Left in the crowded world, no room
For dew, for anything but sand.
Put out the moonshine, fold the bloom.
My feet could find no space to stand,
If I were a Queen.
Ah! still I ask myself, what Queen?
Well, one whose days were almost done,
Who felt her grave-grass turning green,
Who saw the low light of the sun
Shrink from her palace windows, while
Her whole court watched beside her bed,
Ready to say, without a smile:
"We loved the Queen. The Queen is dead."
Then they should grieve a little while,
If I were a Queen.
Well, one whose days were almost done,
Who felt her grave-grass turning green,
Who saw the low light of the sun
Shrink from her palace windows, while
Her whole court watched beside her bed,
Ready to say, without a smile:
"We loved the Queen. The Queen is dead."
Then they should grieve a little while,
If I were a Queen.
