[From Lords and Lovers (New York, 1906)]
Act IV, Scene I. Henry, with lute, singing.
Ope, throw ope thy bower door,
And come thou forth, my sweet!
'Tis morn, the watch of love is o'er,
And mating hearts should meet.
The stars have fled and left their grace
In every blossom's lifted face,
And gentle shadows fleck the light
With tender memories of the night.
Sweet, there's a door to every shrine;
Wilt thou, as morning, open thine?
Hark! now the lark has met the clouds,
And rains his sheer melodious flood;
The green earth casts her mystic shrouds
To meet the flaming god!
Alas, for me there is no dawn
If Glaia come not with the sun.
[Enter Glaia. The king kneels as she approaches.]
Gla. 'Tis you!
Hen. [Leaping up] Pardoned! Queen of this bowerland,
Your glad eyes tell me that I have not sinned.
Gla. How cam'st thou here? Now who plays Hubert false?
Nay, I'm too glad thou'rt come to question so.
'Tis easy to forgive the treachery
That opes our gates to angels.
Hen. O, I'm loved?
Gla. Yes, Henry. All the morn I've thought of you,
And I rose early, for I love to say
Good-by to my dear stars; they seem so wan
And loath to go away, as though they know
The fickle world is thinking of the sun
And all their gentle service of the night
Is quite forgot.
Hen. And what didst think of me?