WE rode through the shouting town; She clung to the edge of the crowd Like a crescent moon slipped down The stormy black of a cloud. Scarce missing my horse's feet By a turn of the hand and head; And O, but her face was sweet, And O, but her mouth was red! I stooped from the saddle swift As a swooping hawk through the brine Pierces to strike and lift, And I touched her lips with mine. For a second's fleeting space I captured the flame of her eyes, The quick, hot blush of her face, Her wondering, mute surprise. But a look, a touch, and then -- Spurred on to the thundering Of the thousand cries of men Who hailed their anointed king. Was she maiden, was she wife, Was she wanton, or bold or shy? What matter, we plucked from life An ecstasy -- she and I. In the moment's little space Or for well or ill was it done -- The girl of the market place And the crowned king were one. @3In purple the young Queen goes -- Like a flower of snow, her face; Ah me, for the wild red rose I kissed in the market place!@1 | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...COMRADE JESUS by SARAH NORCLIFFE CLEGHORN THE BLINDED BIRD by THOMAS HARDY IN EARLIEST SPRING by WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS THE SCHOOL GIRL by WILLIAM HENRY VENABLE THE UNSCARRED FIGHTER REMEMBERS FRANCE by KENNETH SLADE ALLING |