THE KING LAY SICK
The King lay sick in the eastern tower— 'Twas the Queen herself who tended him,Left her taboret in her northern bower To cool his lips at a goblet's rim,With her pearl-sewn sleeve held his dark head upThat on healing simples the King might sup.
The Cardinal came in his scarlet gown To intercede with his God above—For the Cardinal's God who on earth looks down, He does not know as a God of Love,So he bade the courtiers cringe and prayThat the monarch's sickness might pass away.
Grave doctors rustled in velvet cloak With ebon stick and learned mouthTill the King from a fevered stupor woke And cried of a window facing south:Of wild red roses like scented flame,And his pillow muffled a foolish name!
So they called the Queen from the low prie-Dieu Where she held a candle of finest wax,Tho' a wind from the rainy fields crept thro' With a whiff of hawthorn and beaten flax:And the King once more let his raised hand fallAs he turned his face to the arrased wall.
