THE BLAMELESS PRINCE
"This meeting as the sign, and speak, and die!"
"Child," said the Queen, "your years are yet too few.
See how I live,—and yet what sorrows lie
About my heart."—"I know,—the world spake true!
You too have loved him: ay, he seems to stand
Between us! Queen, you had the Prince's hand,
"But not his love!" Across the good Queen's brow
A flame of anger reddened, as when one
Meets unprepared a swift and ruthless blow,
But instant paled to pity, as she thought,
"She wanders: 't is the fever at her brain!"
And looked her thought. The other cried again:
"Yes! I am ill of body and soul indeed,
Yet this was as I say. O, not for me
Pity, from you who wear the widow's weed,
Unknowing!"—"Woman, whose could that love be,
If not all mine?" The other, with a moan,
Rose in her bed; the pillow, backward thrown,
Was darkened with the torrent of her hair.
"'T was hers," she wailed,—"'t was hers who loved him best."
Then tore apart her night-robe, and laid bare
Her flesh, and lo! against her poor white breast
Close round her gloomed a shift of blackest serge,
Fearful, concealed!—"I might not sing his dirge,"
She said, "nor moan aloud and bring him shame,
Nor haunt his tomb and cling about the grate,
But this I fashioned when the tidings came
That he was dead and I must expiate,
Being left, our double sin!"—In the Queen's heart,
The tiger—that is prisoned at life's start
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