Saint John of Nepomuc
He saw the startled courtiers, straining their ears;
He saw the white queen swaying, striving to stand
He saw the soldiers tensely gripping their spears,
Waiting the kings command:
He heard small page drawing a sobbing breath;
He heard a bird's call, poignant and sweet and low;
He heard the rash of the river, spelling death,
Mocking him, down below.
But he only said, "My liege,
To my honor you lay siege,
And that fortress you can never overthrow."
He thought of how he had led them, all the years;
He thought of how he had served them, death and birth;
He thought of healing their hates, stilling their fears . . .
Humbly, he weighed his worth.
He knew he was leaving them, far from the goal;
He knew, with a deep joy, it was safe . . . and wise.
He knew that now the pale queen's pitiful soul
Would awake, and arise.
And he only said, "My king,
Every argument you bring
Merely sets my duty forth in sterner guise."
He felt the spears' points, merciless, thrust him down;
He felt the exquisite, fierce glory of pain;
He felt the bright waves eager, reaching to drown,
Engulf him, body and brain.
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