That has dazzled the eyes of the King and his court and his captains of war.
He was lonely, they say, and he looked, as he sat like a ghost at his wine,
On the couch by his side, where, of yore his Beautiful used to recline.
But the King is a slave to his pride, to his oath and the laws of the Medes,
And he cannot call Vashti again though his poor heart is wounded and bleeds.
So they sought through the land for a wife, while the King thought of me all the while—
I can see him, this moment, with eyes that are lost for the loss of a smile,
Gazing dreamily on while each maiden is temptingly passed in review,
While the love in his heart is awake with the thought of a face that he knew!
Then she came when his heart was grown weary with loving the dream of the past!