Oscar Wilde




Queen Henrietta Maria

To Ellen Terry

In the lone tent, waiting for victory	
  She stands with eyes marred by the mist of pain,	
  Like some wan lily overdrenched with rain:
The clamorous clang of arms, the ensanguined sky,	
War’s ruin, and the wreck of chivalry	       
  To her proud soul no common fear can bring:	
  Bravely she tarrieth for her Lord the King,	
Her soul a-flame with passionate ecstasy.	
O Hair of Gold! O crimson Lips! O Face	
  Made for the luring and the love of man!	       
  With thee I do forget the toil and stress,	
The loveless road that knows no resting place,	
Time’s straightened pulse, the soul’s dread weariness,	
My freedom and my life republican!