Poems (Hardy)/The romance of a clod
THE ROMANCE OF A CLOD
"I SEND you here,"—with his own hand he wrote,—
"From this far land wherein I journey with my knights,
A golden gift. Care for it, I pray you, Sweet,
With that same love you wait my coming hence."
"From this far land wherein I journey with my knights,
A golden gift. Care for it, I pray you, Sweet,
With that same love you wait my coming hence."
Then to her inmost secret room the Queen
Rose-red with joy, yet stately, as a queen
Befitted, went that none might see her heart;
Unlaced the silken wrap and on the seal
Let fond eyes rest, ere she the gift would see,
The open box of jeweled gold; and lo,
A lump of earth, a dry, unyielding clod,
And nothing more! A far-brought gift, a king's
Unto his queen! A clod of earth—a queen!
Rose-red with joy, yet stately, as a queen
Befitted, went that none might see her heart;
Unlaced the silken wrap and on the seal
Let fond eyes rest, ere she the gift would see,
The open box of jeweled gold; and lo,
A lump of earth, a dry, unyielding clod,
And nothing more! A far-brought gift, a king's
Unto his queen! A clod of earth—a queen!
Pale grew the queen, and reddening wrathfully
She wept, sweeping aside her falling hair
That dared its gold against her girdle's gold
At lowest length let down.
"Some evil tongue
Hath slandered me. And now he loves me not;
Alas, what must I do? O lover—king,
My heart is true to you,—is true to you.'
Her tears fell fast upon the hateful clod,
That yet was dear that he had sent it,
Though, indeed, in hate.
With face tear-dimmed,
She pondered long, and then in twilight's dusk,
A sad white shadow, sought the garden dear,
That one fair spot of his and hers where none
Dare come, and near a willow-pool she stooped68
And hid it in the earth with tears; with tears
That might have crumbled kinder clods, not this.
And thus, the insult hid, she lived, nor spoke
To any of her grief, till he should come.
She wept, sweeping aside her falling hair
That dared its gold against her girdle's gold
At lowest length let down.
"Some evil tongue
Hath slandered me. And now he loves me not;
Alas, what must I do? O lover—king,
My heart is true to you,—is true to you.'
Her tears fell fast upon the hateful clod,
That yet was dear that he had sent it,
Though, indeed, in hate.
With face tear-dimmed,
She pondered long, and then in twilight's dusk,
A sad white shadow, sought the garden dear,
That one fair spot of his and hers where none
Dare come, and near a willow-pool she stooped68
And hid it in the earth with tears; with tears
That might have crumbled kinder clods, not this.
And thus, the insult hid, she lived, nor spoke
To any of her grief, till he should come.
And on a day of wide blue sky, and air
Like inspiration, came the herald of the king,
The king himself, in cloth of gold and pearl,
And blue; a crowd of noble knights on steeds
With white manes lifting, falling like the mists
Of some white morning.
Down impetuous,
Down sprang the king and clasped the queen nor marked
Her stately coldness, but with joy led on
And said, "My love, my only love, now show
How thou hast kept my gift. By this," he laughed,
In over-joy,"¢it must be like my queen,
In gold and white, yet not so sweet and fair.
It shall my omen be, of love, of life with thee,
And peace with all the world."
Tumult of soul
The queen's faint heart made mute, while she led on,
She scarce knew how or why, to where it lay,
The hateful gift that made her grief. Behold
A regal flower of gold and white, of white and gold
With perfumed presence wide, above the grave
Her hands had made in wrath of tears and shame!
Like inspiration, came the herald of the king,
The king himself, in cloth of gold and pearl,
And blue; a crowd of noble knights on steeds
With white manes lifting, falling like the mists
Of some white morning.
Down impetuous,
Down sprang the king and clasped the queen nor marked
Her stately coldness, but with joy led on
And said, "My love, my only love, now show
How thou hast kept my gift. By this," he laughed,
In over-joy,"¢it must be like my queen,
In gold and white, yet not so sweet and fair.
It shall my omen be, of love, of life with thee,
And peace with all the world."
Tumult of soul
The queen's faint heart made mute, while she led on,
She scarce knew how or why, to where it lay,
The hateful gift that made her grief. Behold
A regal flower of gold and white, of white and gold
With perfumed presence wide, above the grave
Her hands had made in wrath of tears and shame!
"O love," she cried, "I did not understand!
I did not understand! And I have wronged
In thought,—O, not in heart, my king, for still
I loved you." On his breast she wept the tale
Until he lifted up her sorrowing face
Into the tender light of his own smile.
Along by marble shapes at dusk they passed
Through garden lanes that led them to the court
Where brave and beautiful awaited them
With joyful homage.
But nor marble shape
Nor noble knight nor dame could touch the heart
With beauty like to theirs. A lily lay
In white and gold upon her breast; her hand
Upon his arm; a glory as of light
From some supernal goodness in his face
Shone full before them all.
And yet the queen
At soul of all her joy bore one sad thought,
"I did not understand! Ah, woe is mine
That I must say, 'I did not understand'
When love was speaking." . . .
I did not understand! And I have wronged
In thought,—O, not in heart, my king, for still
I loved you." On his breast she wept the tale
Until he lifted up her sorrowing face
Into the tender light of his own smile.
Along by marble shapes at dusk they passed
Through garden lanes that led them to the court
Where brave and beautiful awaited them
With joyful homage.
But nor marble shape
Nor noble knight nor dame could touch the heart
With beauty like to theirs. A lily lay
In white and gold upon her breast; her hand
Upon his arm; a glory as of light
From some supernal goodness in his face
Shone full before them all.
And yet the queen
At soul of all her joy bore one sad thought,
"I did not understand! Ah, woe is mine
That I must say, 'I did not understand'
When love was speaking." . . .