Sang the voice:
"I get no joy of my life
That have weighed the world—and it was
Abundant with folly, and rife
With sorrows brittle as glass,
And with joys that flicker and pass
As dreams through a fevered head,
And like the dripping of rain
In gardens naked and dead
Is the obdurate thin refrain
Of our youth which is presently dead.
"And she whom alone I have loved
Looks ever with loathing on me,
As one she hath seen disproved
And stained with such smirches as be
Not ever cleansed utterly,
And is loth to remember the days
When Destiny fixed her name
As the theme and the goal of my praise,
And my love engenders shame,
And I stain what I strive for and praise.
"O love, most perfect of all,
Just to have known you is well!
And it heartens me now to recall
That just to have known you is well,
And naught else is desirable
Save only to do as you willed
And to love you my whole life long—
But this heart in me is filled
With hunger cruel and strong,
And with hunger unfulfilled.
"O Love, that art stronger than we,
Albeit not lightly stilled,
Thou art less cruel than she."
Malise came hastily into the room, and, without speaking, laid a fox-brush before the Princess.
Katharine twirled it in her hand, staring at the card-littered table. "So you are in his pay, Malise? I am sorry. But you know that your employer is master here. Who am I to forbid him entrance?" The girl went away silently, abashed, and the Princess sat quite still, tapping the brush against the table.
"They do not want me to sign another treaty, do they?" her father asked timidly. "It appears to me they are always signing treaties, and I cannot see that any good comes of it. And I would have won the last game, Katharine, if Malise had not interrupted us. You know I would have won."
"Yes, father, you would have won. Oh, he must not see you!" Katharine cried, a great tide of love mounting in her breast, the love that draws a mother fiercely to shield her backward boy. "Father, will you not go into your chamber? I have a new book for you, father—all pictures, dear. Come—" She was coaxing him when Henry appeared in the doorway.
"But I do not wish to look at pictures," Charles said, peevishly; "I wish to play cards. You are an ungrateful daughter, Katharine. You are never willing to amuse me." He sat down with a whimper and began to pinch at his dribbling lips.