3. The Wooing
Ah, Princess, hast thou laughed and left
Some faery isle that called thee queen?
And hath that island so bereft
Retained the flouted robe of green
That graced thy lovely ruling, when
It knows thou shalt not come again?
Princess, hearken: wilt thou trust
To my stern clay thy tenderer dust?
Turn to my wooing,—hush thee, sweet,
’Tis but my comrades in the street!
Ah, Princess, doth thine empire seem
Far from the anguish here that lies?...
Resume the sceptre of thy dream,
And make crown-jewels of thine eyes,
And rule a realm whose boundaries are
Limited by my boundless war!
Princess, hearken while I woo,
For love is brief, and death is due
To him who kills,—flinch not, my fair,
’Tis but my comrades on the stair!
Ah, Princess, of that faery isle
Resign thy reign, and rule with me
With sudden splendour of thy smile
O’er the long reaches of the sea;
And all the world shall vassal be,
Heart of my heart, for love of thee.
Princess, hark to me, and give
Thy love to make my love to live;
Here, to my heart!... Love, fear no more,
’Tis but my comrades at the door!