Chapter 10 No.10

'Wake, O king, the best star worn

In the crown of night, forlorn

Blinks a fine white point-'t is morn.'

Soft! The queen's voice, fair is she,

'Wake!' He waketh, living, free,

In the chamber of arras lieth he.

Delicate dim shadows yield

Silken curtains over head

All abloom with work of neeld,

Martagon and milleflower spread.

On the wall his golden shield,

Dinted deep in battle field,

When the host o' the Khalif fled.

Gold to gold. Long sunbeams flit

Upward, tremble and break on it.

'Ay, 't is over, all things writ

Of my sleep shall end awake,

Now is joy, and all its bane

The dark shadow of after pain.'

Then the queen saith, 'Nay, but break

Unto me for dear love's sake

This thy matter. Thou hast been

In great bitterness I ween

All the night-time.' But 'My queen,

Life, love, lady, rest content,

Ill dreams fly, the night is spent,

Good day draweth on. Lament

'Vaileth not,-yea peace,' quoth he;

'Sith this thing no better may be,

Best were held 'twixt thee and me.'

Then the fair queen, 'Even so

As thou wilt, O king, but know

Mickle nights have wrought thee woe,

Yet the last was troubled sore

Above all that went before.'

Quoth the king, 'No more, no more.'

Then he riseth, pale of blee,

As one spent, and utterly

Master'd of dark destiny.