The King.

A blown white bubble buoyed zenith-ward,     Up from the tremulous East the round moon swung     Mist-murky, and the unsocial stars that thronged,     Hot with the drought, thick down the empty West,     Winked thirstily; no wind to rouse the leaves,     That o'er the glaring road lolled palpitant,     Withered and whitened of the weary dust     From iron hoofs of that gay fellowship     Of knights which gat at morn the king disguised;     Whose mind was, "in the lists to joust and be     An equal mid unequals, man with man:"     Who from the towers of Edric passed, wherein     Some nights he'd sojourned, till one morn a horn     Sang at dim portals, musical with dew,     Wild echoes of wild woodlands and the hunt,     Clear herald of the staunchest of his knights;     And they to the great jousts at Camelot     Rode pounding off, a noise of steel and steeds.     Thick in the stagnant moat the lilies lay     Ghastly and rotting; hoarse with rusty chains     The drawbridge hung before the barbed grate;     And far above along lone battlements,     His armor moon-drenched, one great sentinel     Clanked drowsily, and it was late in June,     She at her lattice, lawny night-robed, leaned     Dreaming of somewhat dear, and happy smiled     From glorious eyes; a face like gracious nights,     One silent brilliancy of steadfast stars     Innumerable and delicate through the dusk:     Long, loosened loops and coils of sensuous hair     Rolled turbulence down naked neck and throat,     That shamed the moonshine with a rival sheen.     One stooped above her till his nostrils drank     Rich, faint perfumes that blossomed in her hair,     And 'round her waist hooped one strong arm and drew     Her mightily to him; soft burying deep     In crushed fresh linen warm with flesh his arm,     Searched all her eyes until his own were drugged     Mad with their fire, quick one hungry kiss,     Like anger bruised fierce on her breathless lips,     Whispered, "And lov'st but one? and he?"     "Sweet, sweet my lord, thou wotest well!" and then     From love's stern beauty writhen into hate's     Gnarled hideousness, he haled her sweet, white face     Back, back by its large braids of plenteous hair     Till her full bosom's clamorous speechlessness     Stiff on the moon burst white, low mocked and laughed,     "The King, I wot, adulteress!" and a blade     Glanced thin as ice plunged hard, hard in her heart.