The House of the Trees
& Other Poems

by Ethelwyn Wetherald


Under the King

LOVE with the deep eyes and soft hair,
    Love with the lily throat and hands,
Is done to death, and free as air
    Am I of all my King’s commands.

How shall I celebrate my joy?
    Or dance with feet that once were fleet
In his adorable employ?
    Or laugh with lips that felt his sweet?

How can I at his lifeless face
    Aim any sharp or bitter jest,
Since roguish destiny did place
    That tender target in my breast?

Nay, let me be sincere and strong;
    I cannot rid me of my chains,
I cannot to myself belong,
    My King is dead—his soul still reigns. [Page 83]