Thee have I seen in some waste Arden old,
A white-browed maiden by a foaming stream,
With eyes profound and looks like threaded gold,
And features like a dream.
Upon thy wrist the jessied falcon fleet,
A silver poniard chased with imageries
Hung at a buckled belt, while at thy feet
The gasping heron dies.
Have fancied thee in some quaint ruined keep
A maiden in chaste samite, and her mien
Like that of loved ones visiting our sleep,
Or of a fairy queen.
She, where the cushioned ivy dangling hoar
Disturbs the quiet of her sable hair,
Pores o’er a volume of romantic lore,
Or hums an olden air.
Or a fair Bradamant both brave and just,
Intense with steel, her proud face lit with scorn,
At heathen castles, demons’ dens of lust,
Winding her bugle horn.
Just as stern Artegal; in chastity
A second Britomart; in hardihood
Like him who ‘mid King Charles’ chivalry
A pillared sunbeam stood.
Or one in Avalon’s deep-dingled bowers,
On which old yellow stars and waneless moons
Look softly, while white downy-lipp
(Madison Julius Cawein)
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Based on Topics: Fairness Poems, Dreams Poems, Kings & Queens Poems, Sleep Poems, Gold Poems, Hair Poems, Silver Poems, Fairy PoemsBased on Keywords: poniard, white-browed, bradamant, britomart, imageries, deep-dingled