Lord Dusiote hung on his good squire’s arm, The priest beside him knelt: A weeping handkerchief was pressed To stay the red flood at his breast, And bid cold ladies melt. VII O lady, though you are ice to men, All pure to heaven as light Within the dew within the flower, Of you ’tis whispered that love has power When secret is the night. VIII I have silenced the slanderers, peace to their souls! Save one was too cunning for me. I die, whose love is late avowed, He lives, who boasts the lily has bowed To the oath of a bended knee. IX Lord Dusiote drew breath with pain, And she with pain drew breath: On him she looked, on his like above; She flew in the folds of a marvel of love Revealed to pass to death. X You are dying, O great-hearted lord, You are dying for me, she cried; O take my hand, O take my kiss, And take of your right for love like this, The vow that plights me bride. XI She bade the priest recite his words While hand in hand were they, Lord Dusiote’s soul to waft to bliss; He had her hand, her vow, her kiss, And his body was borne away. III I Lord Dusiote sprang from priest and squire; He gazed at her lighted room: The laughter in his heart grew slack; He knew not the force that pushed him back From her and the morn in bloom. II Like a drowned man’s length on the strong flood-tide, Like the shade of a bird in the sun, He fled from his lady whom he might claim As ghost, and who made the daybeams flame To scare what he had done. III There was grief at Court for one so gay, Though he was a lord less keen For training the vine than at vintage-press; But in her soul the young princess Believed that love had been. IV Lord Dusiote fled the Court and land, He crossed the woeful seas, Till his traitorous doing seemed clearer to burn, And the lady beloved drew his heart for return, Like the banner of war in the breeze. V He neared the palace, he spied the Court, And music he heard, and they told Of foreign lords arrived to bring The nuptial gifts of a bridegroom king To the princess grave and cold. VI The masque and the dance were cloud on wave, And down the masque and the dance Lord Dusiote stepped from dame to dame, And to the young princess he came, With a bow and a burning glance. VII Do you take a new husband to-morrow, lady? She shrank as at prick of steel. Must the first yield place to the second, he sighed. Her eyes were like the grave that is wide For the corpse from head to heel. VIII My lady, my love, that little hand Has mine ringed fast in plight: I bear for your lips a lawful thirst, And as justly the second should follow the first, I come to your door this night. IX