They turn on her and fix their eyes,
But cease not passing inward;--one
Sneering with lips still curled to lies,
Sinuous of body, serpent-wise;
Her footfall creeps, and her looks shun
The very thing on which they dwell.
The other, proud, with heavy cheeks
And massive forehead, where remains
A mark of frowning. If she seeks
With smiles to tame her eyes, or speaks,
Her mouth grows wanton: she disdains
The ground with haughty, measured steps.
The silent years had grown between
Father and daughter. Always she
Had waited on his will, and been
Foremost in doing it,--unseen
Often: she wished him not to see,
But served him for his sake alone.
He saw her constant love; and, tho'
Occasion surely was not scant,
Perhaps had never sought to know
How she could give it wording. So
His love, not stumbling at a want,
Among the three preferred her first.
Her's is the soul not stubborn, yet
Asserting self. The heart was rich;
But, questioned, she had rather let
Men judge her conscious of a debt
Than freely giving: thus, her speech
Is love according to her bond.
In France the queen Cordelia had
Her hours well satisfied with love:
She loved her king, too, and was glad:
And yet, at times, a something sad,
May be, was with her, thinking of
The manner of his life at home.
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