Love is called blind, and I love her—I!
But my eyesight is sharpened by jealousy.
Lovers come wooing this Northern Queen;
I have watched them come, I have watched them go,
Seven long years, through heat, through snow,
But I never saw yet what to-day I have seen.
Nay, 'twas not the ball-lights' fitful glow
That dazzled my sight—I saw aright
That flush in a moment come and go.
I am only her fool, misshapen, thin,
Sour, and old; I caper and grin,
My back is humpbowed, but my mind is keen,
And I sharpen my wit on the courtier-crowd.
They laugh; but she only smiles—does my queen.
••••••
Ah! the closest wards own a master-key,
And he is to bear her across the sea;
Whilst I, her fool, must be laid on the shelf,
For she wears my motley now herself—
Ha! ha! ha! ha ! does the Icicle Queen.
