The doors unfolded, and the pomp Stirred in between; --To a burst of royal music Came the Queen. Her eyes like stars of speedwell Shone down the great saloon; She came, and all before her Knew it was June; The passing of her presence Was too soon. The little curls around her head Were all her crown of gold, Her delicate arms drooped downward In slender mould, As white-veined leaves of lilies Curve and fold. All in white,--not ivory For young bloom past away,-- Blossom-white, rose-white, White of the May; 'Twixt white dress and white neck, Who could say? She moved to measure of music, As a swan sails the stream; Where her looks fell was summer, When she smiled was a dream; All faces bowing towards her Sunflowers seem. O the rose upon her silent mouth, The perfect rose that lies! O the roses red, the roses deep, Within her cheeks that rise! O the rose of rapture of her face To our eyes! The tall fair Princes smile and sigh For grace of one sweet glance, The glittering dancers fill the floor, The Queen leads the dance; The dial-hands to midnight Still advance. Dance down to the melting music! Hark to the viols' strain! Their notes are piercing, piercing, Again, again; The pulse of the air is beating Throbs of pain. Does the dancing languish slower? Oh, the soft flutes wail and sigh; In silver falling and calling, They seek reply; And the heart is sinking, sinking, Why, ah why? Oh, the high harp-strings resounding! So long, so clear they are: A cry is ringing in heaven From star to star, Rising sharper and fainter From afar. The Queen has danced from end to end; Oh, the candles burn so bright! But her blue eyes look far away Into the night; And the roses on her cheeks and lips Have grown white. Oh, why is the Queen so pale to-night? And why does silence fall, As one by one they turn to her, Upon them all? Whence comes that cold wind shivering Down the hall? The hour draws close to midnight, The banquet board is spread; The lamps are lit, the guests are set, The Queen at the head: For the feasting at kings' tables Grace be said! The shaded light of rubies Streams from every part Down the golden supper;-- Who is sick at heart? Oh, hush! for the Queen is listening, Lips apart. She sits with wide and open eyes, The wine-cup in her hand; And all the guests are ill at ease, Nor understand; Is it not some enchanted Strange far land? The twelve long strokes of midnight With clash and clang affright; The rose-glow seems to darken Before their sight; But the Queen has swooned back heavily, Cold and white. They lifted her, a burden Like broken lily-flowers; They laid her on her own bed,