IV

     The South grew all a nightingale
     Beneath a moon unmoved: 
     Like the banner of war she led them on;
     She left them to lie, like the light that has gone
     From wine-cups overproved.

     V

     When the South was a fervid nightingale,
     And she a chilling moon,
     ’Twas pity to see on the garden swards,
     Against Love’s laws, those rival lords
     As willow-wands lie strewn.

     VI

     The South had throat of a nightingale
     For her, the young princess: 
     She gave no vine of Love to rear,
     Love’s wine drank not, yet bent her ear
     To themes of Love no less.

     2—­I

     The lords of the Court they sighed heart-sick,
     Heart-free Lord Dusiote laughed: 
     I prize her no more than a fling o’ the dice,
     But, or shame to my manhood, a lady of ice,
     We master her by craft!

     II

     Heart-sick the lords of joyance yawned,
     Lord Dusiote laughed heart-free: 
     I count her as much as a crack o’ my thumb,
     But, or shame of my manhood, to me she shall come
     Like the bird to roost in the tree!

     III

     At dead of night when the palace-guard
     Had passed the measured rounds,
     The young princess awoke to feel
     A shudder of blood at the crackle of steel
     Within the garden-bounds.

     IV

     It ceased, and she thought of whom was need,
     The friar or the leech;
     When lo, stood her tirewoman breathless by: 
     Lord Dusiote, madam, to death is nigh,
     Of you he would have speech.

     V

     He prays you of your gentleness,
     To light him to his dark end. 
     The princess rose, and forth she went,
     For charity was her intent,
     Devoutly to befriend.

     VI

     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.