'Twas thus till now they had soothed his dread,
Albeit they knew not what they said:
But who should speak to-day of the thing
That all knew there except the King?
Then pondering much they found a way,
And met round the King's high seat that day:
And the King sat with a heart sore stirred,
And seldom he spoke and seldom heard.
'Twas then through the hall the King was 'ware
Of a little boy with golden hair,
As bright as the golden poppy is
That the beach breeds for the surf to kiss:
Yet pale his cheek as the thorn in spring,
And his garb black like the raven's wing.
Nothing was heard but his foot through the hall,
For now the lords were silent all.
And the King wondered, and said, "Alack!
Who sends me a fair boy dressed in black?
"Why, sweet heart, do you pace through the hall
As though my court were a funeral?"