My lady walks her morning round, <br />My lady's page her fleet greyhound, <br />My lady's hair the fond winds stir, <br />And all the birds make songs for her. <br /> <br />Her thrushes sing in Rathburn bowers, <br />And Rathburn side is gay with flowers; <br />But ne'er like hers, in flower or bird, <br />Was beauty seen or music heard. <br /> <br />The distance of the stars is hers; <br />The least of all her worshippers, <br />The dust beneath her dainty heel, <br />She knows not that I see or feel. <br /> <br />Oh, proud and calm!-she cannot know <br />Where'er she goes with her I go; <br />Oh, cold and fair!-she cannot guess <br />I kneel to share her hound's caress! <br /> <br />Gay knights beside her hunt and hawk, <br />I rob their ears of her sweet talk; <br />Her suitors come from east and west, <br />I steal her smiles from every guest. <br /> <br />Unheard of her, in loving words, <br />I greet her with the song of birds; <br />I reach her with her green-armed bowers, <br />I kiss her with the lips of flowers. <br /> <br />The hound and I are on her trail, <br />The wind and I uplift her veil; <br />As if the calm, cold moon she were, <br />And I the tide, I follow her. <br /> <br />As unrebuked as they, I share <br />The license of the sun and air, <br />And in a common homage hide <br />My worship from her scorn and pride. <br /> <br />World-wide apart, and yet so near, <br />I breathe her charmed atmosphere, <br />Wherein to her my service brings <br />The reverence due to holy things. <br /> <br />Her maiden pride, her haughty name, <br />My dumb devotion shall not shame; <br />The love that no return doth crave <br />To knightly levels lifts the slave, <br /> <br />No lance have I, in joust or fight, <br />To splinter in my lady's sight <br />But, at her feet, how blest were I <br />For any need of hers to die!<br /><br />John Greenleaf Whittier<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-henchman/
