HIS Grace of Marlborough, legends say, Though battle-lightnings proved his worth, Was scathed like others, in his day, By fiercer fires at his own hearth. The patient chief, thus sadly tried, -- Madam, the Duchess, was so fair, -- In Blenheim's honors felt less pride Than in the lady's lovely hair. Once (shorn, she had coiled it there to wound Her lord when he should pass, 't is said), Shining across his path he found The glory of the woman's head. No sudden word, nor sullen look, In all his after days, confessed He missed the charm whose absence took A scar's pale shape within his breast. I think she longed to have him blame, And soothe him with imperious tears: -- As if her beauty were the same, He praised her through his courteous years. But when the soldier's arm was dust, Among the dead man's treasures, where He laid it as from moth and rust, They found his way ward wife's sweet hair. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CANADA by CHARLES GEORGE DOUGLAS ROBERTS MUTABILITY (2) by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY THE VOW OF WASHINGTON by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER PEACE ON EARTH by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS THE PRELUDE: BOOK 1. CHILDHOOD AND SCHOOL-TIME by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH |