Poems (Forrest)/The king rode by
THE KING RODE BY
Oh, a King came riding last spring, last spring, By the wall where the moss cups blow;By the short green fields and the long hop poles, Where the scarlet bean-flowers grow.A King came riding out of the haze Of the grey old town below.
A King came riding in summer days: Pallid roses on lawns of dream,Bulrush-browns by the sunny banks Of the low, sun-smitten stream;And the broken peace of the pebbled ford Caught a jewelled feather's gleam.
For a King goes grandly in purple coat, Pearl-sewn sleeve, and a dagger hilt,Diamond-dappled, with dust of stars, Rubies over the metal spilt.And when a King in his pride rides by, Roses languish and poppies wilt.
The King has buskins of leather fine, He rides for pleasure, and casts his greaves;The King has eyes that are quick as fire To find a dormer among the eaves.And on the boards that were clean and white The print of a heel he leaves,
Moths were out in the twilight ways, Bistre-body and noiseless wing;Shy jack rabbits between the stooks Heard a rustling along the ling,Nor knew that the step among the fern Was the footfall of a King.
The smith had courted the wilful maid Steadily for a year or more;And now she sews at her wedding-gown, Linen white from the merchant's store,In the autumn days when the reddening vine Trails flamboyant from porch to door.
The smith wears greasy leathern breeks, His chest is hairy and strong and bare;But his eyes, when he looks at Elspeth, seem The eyes of a knight who kneels in prayer;And he scarce dare fondle her fingers 'warm, Nor one ringlet of her hair!
And Elspeth seems as a maiden fey, She sews and sews like a hunted thing,Starts at the pipe of a lonely bird, Grows rose-red at a dry leaf's swing;Then drops her needle to watch the road Where a King rode in the spring.