8. On High Tower

She stood on sheer tower that thorn-like thrust
From hall on high through the inner airs.
Her face half-frost, cheeks torn by tears,
Poised in profile, silhouetted alone:
- She stood unmoving -
- like quivering stone. -

A sound, a step: the queen came out,
Her green eyes glinting, soft, severe;
Hair black, unbound, as wild as wind.
She stopped, unsure:
- face still, serene -
- stance shy, demure. -

Face to face they stood, were still
Atop the tower. And quiet the queen asked,
'What is wrong? You fled the feast
'Like a doe that dreads the hunter's horn!'
'In safety here know rest and peace,'
- 'where grief's tight grasp -
- 'may find release.' -

Nèhaléni laughed. She held her hand
Unconscious close where babe in belly
Snugly swam. 'The grief I am given,
'I have born and will bear,'
- 'But grief's not the madness -
- 'By which I despair!' -

'How strange! I see that phantom Fate
'Yields haunted hopes: How grief brings gladness,'
'Gladness grief! Dare I follow my heart
'Though by folly led?'
- 'Yet I love him, whose heart -
- 'prefers the dead!' -

The queen was quiet. The gardens' gleaming
Framed her face. The sound of song
Rose drifting dreamlike, pure, compelling,
Faint and far away;
- A glow rose above -
- the bud of day. -

The queen stood quiet, breath on breath
A pulse of passion veiled, overlaid.
Nèhaléni turned, met turquoise eyes:
Sorrow's compassion, sisterly pain.
With sudden sob, in awkward embrace
- they clung arm to arm -
- and face to face. -