THE BLAMELESS PRINCE
That hedged her from possession, save by stealth
And trespass on the guileless Queen's estate;
To see her lover furthest when most near,
Nor dare before the world to make him dear.
To see her perfect beauty but a lure,
That made men list to follow where she went,
And kneel to woo the hand they deemed so pure,
And hunger for her pitying mouth's consent;
Calling her hard, who was so gently made,
Nor found delight in all their homage paid.
Nor ever yet was woman's life complete
Till at her breast the child of him she loved
Made life and love one name. Though love be sweet,
And passing sweet, till then its growth has proved
In woman's paradise a sterile tree,
Fruitless, though fair its leaves and blossoms be.
Meanwhile the Prince put on his own disguise,
Holding it naught for what it kept secure,
Nor wore it only in his comrades' eyes;
Beneath this cloak and seeming to be pure
He felt the thing he seemed. For some brief space
His conscience took the reflex of his face.
But lastly through his heart there crept a sense
Of falseness, like a worm about the core,
Until he grew to loathe the long pretence
Of blamelessness and would the mask he wore
By some swift judgment from his face were torn,
So might the outer quell the inner scorn.
Such self-contempt befell him, when the feast
Rang with his praise, he blushed from nape to crown,
And ground his teeth in silence, yet had ceased
To bear it, crying, "Crush me not quite down,
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