The Spike: or, Victoria College Review, June 1910
My Lady waits at home for me,
And guards my castle by the sea,
While I. her knight, am far away,
Fighting the heathen in Cathay,
What shall I send to my lady,
To keep me in her memory.
Of all the spoils that I have won.
Of all the deeds that I have done?
I'll send her silks and satins rare,
All woven by a princess fair:
She worked them for her marriage day:
Her lover proved untrue, they say.
Of gems I'll send—red ruby rings,
Torn from the palaces of kings;
A queen for every ring has sighed,
For every jewel a man has died.
A thousand slaves shall freight my ship,
Till 'neath the waves the gunwales dip;
At the galley oars my slaves shall bend.
As home to her their way they wend.
My lady, she will none of this.
Soft silks and slaves she will not miss;
Bright gems to her are far less sweet
Than the tiniest flower beneath her feet.
Then I'll send nothing of my spoil,
O, I'll tell nothing of my toil;
This kerchief. stained with my warm blood,
Alone shall cross the swelling flood.
And she will wear it next her heart.
Which at the touch will stab and start;
Though I am here in far Cathay.
And she so many miles away.
C. H. Taylor.