THE STORY OF BOON.
225
"I love much,"
The Duke sent back. Ah, madness such
As this was never seen. The halls
Of tyrants' palaces have walls
Higher than Love's and Hope's last breath,
Wider than Life, deeper than Death!
The Duke sent back. Ah, madness such
As this was never seen. The halls
Of tyrants' palaces have walls
Higher than Love's and Hope's last breath,
Wider than Life, deeper than Death!
Embroidered with a thread of gold
On silk, and hidden fold on fold,
As if an amulet she wore,
Her lover's name the poor Choy bore
By night, by day, upon her heart.
The new slave woman, with an art
As tender as a sister's, sought
To comfort her. Each day she brought
New message from the Duke, each night
Lay at her mistress' feet till light.
O Buddha! pitiful, divine,
All-seeing, gav'st thou no sign
To warn these faithful, loving three,
Who were as faithful unto thee
As to each other! Didst thou teach
The cruel tyrant how to reach
Their life blood, that thy arm might save
Them by the surety of the grave?
Might give to their expiring breath
The gift of life, in shape of death?
Ah, Buddha! pitiful, divine,
Thy gifts of death record no sign
Of life beyond. Our weak hearts crave
Some voice of surety for the grave.
On silk, and hidden fold on fold,
As if an amulet she wore,
Her lover's name the poor Choy bore
By night, by day, upon her heart.
The new slave woman, with an art
As tender as a sister's, sought
To comfort her. Each day she brought
New message from the Duke, each night
Lay at her mistress' feet till light.
O Buddha! pitiful, divine,
All-seeing, gav'st thou no sign
To warn these faithful, loving three,
Who were as faithful unto thee
As to each other! Didst thou teach
The cruel tyrant how to reach
Their life blood, that thy arm might save
Them by the surety of the grave?
Might give to their expiring breath
The gift of life, in shape of death?
Ah, Buddha! pitiful, divine,
Thy gifts of death record no sign
Of life beyond. Our weak hearts crave
Some voice of surety for the grave.
