* * * * *
V.
Shall I faint? shall I pine? shall I sicken and die for the loss of his love?
Not I; I am queen of myself, though the stars fall from heaven above—
The stars! ha! the torment is there, for my light is put out by a Star,
That has dazzled the eyes of the King and his Court and his Captains of War.
* * * * *
VI.
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.
VII.
So they ransacked 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 as each maiden is temptingly passed in review,
While the love in his heart is awake with the thought of a face that he knew!
* * * * *