she looked at me:--

"There dwelt a princess over the sea--
Right fair was she, right fair was she--
Who loved a squire of low degree,
But married a king of Brittany--
Ah, woe is me!

"And it came to pass on the wedding-day--
So people say, so people say--
That they found her dead in her bridal array,
Dead, and her lover beside her lay--
Ah, well-away!

"A sour stave for your sweets," she said,
Pressing the blossoms against her lips:
Then petal by petal the branch she shred,
Snowing the blooms from her finger-tips,
Tossing them down for her feet to tread.

What to her was the look I gave
Of love despised! though she seemed to start,
Seeing, and said, with a quick hand-wave,
"Why, one would think that _that_ was your heart,"
While her face with a sudden thought grew grave.

But I answered nothing. And so to her home
We came in the twilight; falling clear,
With a few first stars and a moon's curved foam,
Over the hush of meadow and mere,
Whence the boom of the bittern would often come.

Would you think that she loved me?--Who can say?--
What a riddle unread was she to me!--
When I kissed her fingers and turned away
I wanted to speak, but--what cared she,
Though her eyes looked soft and she begged me stay!

Though she lingered to watch me--that might be
A slim moon-beam or the evening haze,--
But never my Lady's drapery
Or wistful face!--in the ivy maze....
Leona of Verne--why, what cared she!

So the days went by, and the Summer wore
Her hot heart out; and, a mighty slayer,
The Autumn harried the land and shore,
And the world was red with his wrecks; but grayer
That land with the ghosts of the nevermore.

The sheaves of the Summer had long been bound;
The harvests of Autumn had long been past;
And the snows of the Winter lay deep around,
When the dark news came and I knew at last;
And the reigning woe of my heart was crowned.

So I sought her here, the young Earl's bride;
In the ancient room at the oriel dreaming,
Pale as the blooms in her hair; and, wide,
Her robe's rich satin, flung stormily, gleaming,
Like shimmering silver, twilight-dyed.

I marked as I stole to her side that tears
Were vaguely large in her beautiful eyes;
That the loops of pearls on her throat, and years
Old lace on her bosom were heaved with sighs