Elizabeth Barrett Browning - A Court Lady lyrics

Her hair was tawny with gold, her
Eyes with purple were dark
Her cheeks’ pale opal burnt with
A red and restless spark

Never was lady of Milan nobler
In name and in race
Never was lady of Italy fairer
To see in the face

Never was lady on earth more
True as woman and wife
Larger in judgment and instinct
Prouder in manners and life

She stood in the early morning
And said to her maidens "Bring
That silken robe made ready to wear
At the Court of the King

"Bring me the clasps of diamond
Lucid, clear of the mote
Clasp me the large at the waist
And clasp me the small at the throat

"Diamonds to fasten the hair, and
Diamonds to fasten the sleeves
Laces to drop from their rays
Like a powder of snow from the eaves"

Gorgeous she entered the
Sunlight which gathered her up in a flame
While, straight in her open carriage
She to the hospital came

In she went at the door, and
Gazing from end to end
"Many and low are the pallets
But each is the place of a friend"

Up she passed through the wards
And stood at a young man’s bed:
Bloody the band on his brow
And livid the droop of his head

"Art thou a Lombard, my brother? Happy
Art thou, " she cried
And smiled like Italy on him: he
Dreamed in her face and died

Pale with his passing soul
She went on still to a second:
He was a grave hard man
Whose years by dungeons were reckoned

Wounds in his body were sore
Wounds in his life were sorer
"Art thou a Romagnole?" Her eyes
Drove lightnings before her

"Austrian and priest had joined to
Double and tighten the cord
Able to bind thee, O strong one
Free by the stroke of a sword

"Now be grave for the rest of us
Using the life overcast
To ripen our wine of the present
(too new) in glooms of the past"

Down she stepped to a pallet where
Lay a face like a girl’s
Young, and pathetic with dying
A deep black hole in the curls

"Art thou from Tuscany, brother? and
Seest thou, dreaming in pain
Thy mother stand in the piazza
Searching the List of the slain?"

Kind as a mother herself
She touched his cheeks with her hands:
"Blessed is she who has borne thee
Although she should weep as she stands"

On she passed to a Frenchman
His arm carried off by a ball:
Kneeling, "O more than my brother! how
Shall I thank thee for all?

"Each of the heroes around us has
Fought for his land and line
But thou hast fought for a stranger
In hate of a wrong not thine

"Happy are all free peoples
Too strong to be dispossessed
But blessed are those among nations who dare
To be strong for the rest!"

Ever she passed on her way
And came to a couch where pined
One with a face from Venetia
White with a hope out of mind

Long she stood and gazed, and twice
She tried at the name
But two great crystal tears were
All that faltered and came

Only a tear for Venice? she turned
As in passion and loss
And stooped to his forehead and kissed it
As if she were kissing the cross

Faint with that strain of heart she
Moved on then to another
Stern and strong in his death
"And dost thou suffer, my brother?"

Holding his hands in hers: "Out
Of the Piedmont lion
Cometh the sweetness of freedom! sweetest to
Live or to die on"

Holding his cold rough hands, "Well
Oh well have ye done
In noble, noble Piedmont
Who would not be noble alone"

Back he fell while she spoke she rose
To her feet with a spring
"That was a Piedmontese! and this is
The Court of the King"