Poems (Forrest)/The king lays sick
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.
The young Prince fretted for hawk and hound, And bit his knuckle and drummed a heel:'Twas the longest waiting his youth had found, He began to ponder how sceptres feel:The thought was dull . . . for wild-woods are greenAnd a gipsy wench may not make a Queen!
And the Queen, who never had loved the King, Hid secret dreams as the taper burned,For the Prince, her son, was a weak-willed thing, And a likely Regent her heart discerned;But the foul reproach none should ever bringThat she lacked in duty towards her King.
So she grudged herself e'en a moment's sleep While she measured physics and spiced the wine,And she knew exactly how much to weep For a loving wife is a clinging vine:And she proved what a loyal heart can bearWhen the sick King frowned as he saw her there!
From the dreary wastes of the blackened plain With her eyes like night and her hair like flameThro' the unspent fury of wind and rain, The King's Sweetheart from the forest came,In her cotton shift was no warmth at allBut she stood all night at the palace wall:
When the wan wild sun in the hills had set And the hooting owl from its caverns drew,While the dwarfs of the tempest spread their net To steal a star that the clouds let thro'With her small palms pressed to the wall's wet mossAnd her arms outspread till she made a cross:
She heard the watchman call the hour, She heard the chanting at evensong,Heard them changing guard in the eastern tower And stood there, rigid, the whole night long,She spiced no cup—and she prayed no prayer—But I think her God saw her vigil there.