I quaked like river-shaken rash,
Wondering what new-wrought shape of death
Should quench my new love-quickened breath?
Or else: forget'st thou, Goldilocks,
Thine own land of the wheaten shocks?
Thy mother and thy sisters dear,
Thou said'st would bide thy true-love there?
Hast thou forgot? Hast thou forgot?
O love, my love, I move thee not."
Silent the fair Queen sat and smiled,