THE KING CAME HOME
The mists that are as melted pearls were in the green cup of the wood,Which Morn had emptied of the Night, and Life and High Emprise seemed good,His war-horse champed its ringing bit to hear them sound the tourney call,And bravely to its jewelled sheath I heard the sword of victory fall.A white-throat sang against the copse, the pennons on the blue were gay,And with my favour on his heart, and at his helm, he rode away. . .
The kine came home at evenfall, I heard them lowing in the byre;The sunset died along the hills in one wild wave of orange fire;The hinds were talking of the jousts, of blows for honour or for shame,But when they told of gallant deeds not one among them spoke his name.
I donned my robe of heaven's blue, I drew my golden cincture down,I set a jewel in my hair, and underneath my festal gownMy quilted petticoat I wore, my silken hose with clocks of green,For when a king rides home at night 'twere fitting he should find a queen. . .
