"When Queen Guinever of Britain was a little wench." LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. SWIFT across the palace floor Flashed her tiny wilful feet; "Playfellow, I will no more, Now I must my task complete." Arthur kissed her childish hand, Sighed to think her task severe, Walked forth in the garden land, Lonely till she reappear. She has sought her latticed room, Overlooking faery seas, Called Launcelot from a bowery gloom To feast of milk and honey of bees. "Had we bid Prince Arthur too, He had shaken his grave head, Saying, 'My holidays are few! -- May queens not have their will?" she said. Thus she passed the merry day, Thus her women spake and smiled: "All we see we need not say, For Guinever is but a child." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO A LADY WHO HAD OFFERED HIM A WREATH OF LAUREL by GEORGE SANTAYANA THE OWL AND THE PUSSY CAT by EDWARD LEAR SOURCE by KENNETH SLADE ALLING P. C., X, 36 by HENRY MAXIMILIAN BEERBOHM WEE WILLIE GRAY by ROBERT BURNS ON A CORNELIAN HEART WHICH WAS BROKEN by GEORGE GORDON BYRON OBSERVATIONS IN THE ART OF ENGLISH POESY: 7. TROCHAIC VERSE: THE THIRD EPIGRAM by THOMAS CAMPION |