Star over Bethlehem - Agatha Christie [26]
The King, he took his golden crown and set it on her head.
And then he paled and shivered,
The courtiers gazed in fear,
At Bluebell, grey Bluebell, so pale and ghostly there.
“O King, your crown is heavy, ’twould bow my head with care.
Your palace walls would shut me in, who live as free as air.
The wind, he is my lover,
The sun my lover too,
And Bluebell, wild Bluebell, shall ne’er be Queen to you.”
The King, he mourned a twelvemonth, and none could ease his pain.
The King, he went a-walking a-down a lovers’ lane.
He laid aside his golden crown,
Into the wood went he,
Where Bluebell, wild Bluebell, dances ever wild and free.
The Princess Sings
BRING me my lute and let me play
A bygone ballad of yesterday.
Four knights there were from far away
(Ring out, my lute, on a chord so gay!)
Four knights who came to kiss my hand
From the East and the West
And the far Northland.
And one from the South …
Who kissed my mouth …
And stole my heart away …
Bring me my lute and let me sing
A ballad of yore with the old gay ring.
Out in the West the sun dies red
(Where does my true love lay his head?)
Four knights who came from o’er the sea,
One I hold, and one holds me.
And one I never again shall see …
Who came from the South
And kissed my mouth,
And stole my heart away …
Lost in the West is the setting sun,
Take then my lute, the tale is done!
Dreams and Fantasies
The Dream Spinners
Oh! who shall see the Spinners?
The silent white-robed Spinners?
The tender cruel Spinners
As they spin the Thread of Dreams?
Can you hear the Wheel a-whirring?
And the menace of its purring?
See the colour of a rainbow as it gleams?
Can you see the shining mesh
That is spun for human flesh?
Can you hear them?
Do you fear them?
Will you dare to wander near them?
The silent white-robed Spinners
As they spin the Web of Dreams …
The conqueror from the battle by their gleam is led astray,
Where the fragile threads enfold him—there his armour rusts away …
The boy who goes a-ploughing at the dusky hour of eve
Sees a Vision grey and golden—and his furrow he must leave.
And the maiden in the village, who has knelt beside the lake,
And has seen a Dream-face pictured—goes unwedded for his sake …
Oh! if your eyes shall see them,
You had better turn and flee them,
For no power born of earth shall hold you then.
And you’ll let the world go by,
Seeking Beauty till you die!
If you hear them,
Oh! beware them!
And never venture near them!
The silent white-robed Spinners
As they spin the Thread of Dreams …
There are Threads of Red and Golden! There are Threads of Grey and Green!
There are Threads of White and Silver. And they merge in dazzling sheen!
There’s a Web of wondrous weaving that is Rose and Amethyst,
And a Purple Strand of Mystery that fades into the mist …
And oh! there’s love and longing! There’s a heart to laugh and grieve,
There’s Wonder … and there’s Pity—where the white-robed Spinners weave …
Oh! who shall find the Spinners?
The silent white-robed Spinners?
The tender cruel Spinners
As they spin the Web of Dreams …
Down in the Wood
BARE brown branches against a blue sky
(And Silence within the wood),
Leaves that, listless, lie under your feet,
Bold brown boles that are biding their time
(And Silence within the wood).
Spring has been fair in the fashion of youth,
Summer with languorous largesse of love,
Autumn with passion that passes to pain,
Leaf, flower, and flame—they have fallen and failed
And Beauty—bare Beauty is left in the wood!
Bare brown branches against a mad moon
(And Something that stirs in the wood),
Leaves that rustle and rise from the dead,
Branches