But I forbade—and there thou art, a monarch, robed and crown’d!
“With all thy bright locks gleaming still, their coronal beneath,
And thy brow so proudly beautiful—who said that this was death?
Silence hath been upon thy lips, and stillness round thee long,
But the hopeful spirit in my breast is all undimm’d and strong.
“I know thou hast not loved me yet; I am not fair like thee,
The very glance of whose clear eye threw round a light of glee!
A frail and drooping form is mine—a cold unsmiling cheek—
Oh! I have but a woman’s heart wherewith thy heart to seek.
“But when thou wakest, my prince, my lord! and hear’st how I have kept