AGAINST thy knees my pallid brow Amid the fading roses there; O lady of Autumn, love me now Before the black days chill the air. And move thy gentle hands that seem To ease my heart, to heal the sting! Of my ancestral kings I dream, But thou, lift up thine eyes, and sing. Soothe me with haunting ditties old, And songs of valor that has been, Of kings who in their ruddy gold Died at the feet of maid and queen. And when thy liquid voice shall rise Recalling epic and romance, And cry even as the bugle cries Above the harsh swords' flash and dance, For gentle death I shall be fain Amid thy roses, O my love, Too cowardly to win again The kingdom they have robbed me of. |