what's o'clock
117
To work upon; with such a king and queen
Things had moved gaudily—if that were all.
He guessed the word ill-chosen, half a truth,
And seeking the other half, he wrought them both
Into a tale of tragic circumstance,
Of bargained marriage hurried on through lust,
Of desolate surrender where no hope
Of moving iron wills could have a place,
Of girlhood torn upon the state of queen.
With scraps of ancient myths, and fairy-tales,
And half-remembered tags of history,
Neron made up a story his old dreams
Could nowise counter with. He let them be,
Forsaking his life to consider theirs:
The terrible and unrelenting king,
The queen with a red fox-glove in her hands.
So Neron changed the order of his dreams
And irony became magnificence.
The queen, composed and cool, bent to his will,
Things had moved gaudily—if that were all.
He guessed the word ill-chosen, half a truth,
And seeking the other half, he wrought them both
Into a tale of tragic circumstance,
Of bargained marriage hurried on through lust,
Of desolate surrender where no hope
Of moving iron wills could have a place,
Of girlhood torn upon the state of queen.
With scraps of ancient myths, and fairy-tales,
And half-remembered tags of history,
Neron made up a story his old dreams
Could nowise counter with. He let them be,
Forsaking his life to consider theirs:
The terrible and unrelenting king,
The queen with a red fox-glove in her hands.
So Neron changed the order of his dreams
And irony became magnificence.
The queen, composed and cool, bent to his will,
