THE VOW OF THE PEACOCK.
35
Plumed, and full armed from head to heel,
They sat like statues carved in steel.
He of that body was the soul,
To lead, to curb, inspire, control.
And wherefore does the warrior wait?
His steed is pawing at the gate,—
His page is with his helmet near,—
He has kissed his cousin's farewell tear.—
He lingers—for a dwarf that seems
More like a creature framed in dreams,
'Mid midnight's strange fantastic strife,
Than being formed of actual life,
Has prayed him for a moment there
To listen to a lady's prayer.
And ever true knight owns the claim
Whose suit is urged in woman's name.
