There were born every day,
she reflected, such hosts of women-children, who were not princesses,
and therefore compelled to marry detestable kings.
Dawn found her in the orchard. She was to remember that it was a
cloudy morning, and that mist-tatters trailed from the more distant
trees. In the slaty twilight the garden's verdure was lustreless, the
grass and foliage were uniformly sombre save where dewdrops showed
like beryls. Nowhere in the orchard was there absolute shadow, nowhere
a vista unblurred; in the east, half-way between horizon and zenith,
two belts of coppery light flared against the gray sky like embers
swaddled by ashes. The birds were waking; there were occasional
scurryings in tree-tops and outbursts of peevish twittering to attest
as much; and presently came a singing, less musical than that of many
a bird perhaps, but far more grateful to the girl who heard it, heart
in mouth. A lute accompanied the song demurely.
Sang Alain:
"O Madam Destiny, omnipotent,
Be not too obdurate to us who pray
That this our transient grant of youth be spent
In laughter as befits a holiday,
From which the evening summons us away,
From which to-morrow wakens us to strife
And toil and grief and wisdom,--and to-day
Grudge us not life!
"O Madam Destiny, omnipotent,
Why need our elders trouble us at play?
We know that very soon we shall repent
The idle follies of our holiday,
And being old, shall be as wise as they:
But now we are not wise, and lute and fife
Plead sweetlier than axioms,--so to-day
Grudge us not life!
"O Madam Destiny, omnipotent,
You have given us youth--and must we cast away
The cup undrained and our one coin unspent
Because our elders' beards and hearts are gray?
They have forgotten that if we delay
Death claps us on the shoulder, and with knife
Or cord or fever flouts the prayer we pray--
'Grudge us not life!'
"Madam, recall that in the sun we play
But for an hour, then have the worm for wife,
The tomb for habitation--and to-day
Grudge us not life!"
Candor in these matters is best.
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