Balade
I cannot tell, of twain beneath this bond, Which one in grief the other goes beyond,--- Narcissus, who to end the pain he bore Died of the love that could not help him more; Or I, that pine because I cannot see The lady who is queen and love to me. Nay--for Narcissus, in the forest pond Seeing his image, made entreaty fond, "Beloved, comfort on my longing pour": So for a while he soothed his passion sore; So cannot I, for all too far is she--- The lady who is queen and love to me. But since that I have Love's true colours donned, I in his service will not now despond, For in extremes Love yet can all restore: So till her beauty walks the world no more All day remembered in my hope shall be The lady who is queen and love to me
Henry Newbolt’s other poems:
