"When Queen Guinever of Britain was a little wench." LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. SWIFT across the palace floor Flashed her tiny wilful feet; "Playfellow, I will no more, Now I must my task complete." Arthur kissed her childish hand, Sighed to think her task severe, Walked forth in the garden land, Lonely till she reappear. She has sought her latticed room, Overlooking faery seas, Called Launcelot from a bowery gloom To feast of milk and honey of bees. "Had we bid Prince Arthur too, He had shaken his grave head, Saying, 'My holidays are few! -- May queens not have their will?" she said. Thus she passed the merry day, Thus her women spake and smiled: "All we see we need not say, For Guinever is but a child." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SONG OF THE SHIRT by THOMAS HOOD LINES TO A TEAPOT by JOANNA BAILLIE TO THE MEMORY OF SAMUEL WHITBREAD by BERNARD BARTON A CHAUNT IN PRAISE by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT INAUGURATION SONNET: WILLIAM JEWETT TUCKER by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE TO A LADY WHO HAD LOST A RELATIVE by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD FIRST SIGHT by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH HOW ONE WINTER CAME IN THE LAKE REGION by WILLIAM WILFRED CAMPBELL |