There was frost on the sleeves of the arm-pillow,
And in the morning,
Lo! A frost-white world!
The Prince was sorry the lady had got ahead of him. He said to himself: "The night was passed yearning after the beloved and frost—"
Just then the page presented himself and His Highness said, with some temper, handing his letter to the page: "Her messenger has already come; I am beaten. I wish you had come earlier." The page ran to her, and said: "I had been summoned before your messenger got there. I was late and he is angry." The lady read the letter:
The moon last night was very bright,
In a frosty morning
I await
With hope unwarranted
One who cannot be expected.
His letter seemed not to have been suggested by hers, and she was pleased that His Highness had been in the same mood with herself.
Her poem:
I did not sleep, gazing at the moon all night
But the dawning of the day
Was in whiteness of hoar-frost.
You are angry with the page. He is very sorry, and it awakes my pity.
The morning sun shines on the frost
So, like the sun, your face.