Roden Berkeley Wriothesley Noel (1834–1894)

I FLUNG me round him,

I drew him under;

I clung, I drown’d him,

My own white wonder!..

Father and mother,

Weeping and wild,

Came to the forest,

Calling the child,

Came from the palace,

Down to the pool,

Calling my darling,

My beautiful!

Under the water,

Cold and so pale!

Could it be love made

Beauty to fail?

Ah me for mortals!

In a few moons,

If I had left him,

After some Junes

He would have faded,

Faded away,

He, the young monarch, whom

All would obey,

Fairer than day;

Alien to springtime,

Joyless and gray,

He would have faded,

Faded away,

Moving a mockery,

Scorn’d of the day!

Now I have taken him

All in his prime,

Saved from slow poisoning

Pitiless Time,

Fill’d with his happiness,

One with the prime,

Saved from the cruel

Dishonour of Time.

Laid him, my beautiful,

Laid him to rest,

Loving, adorable,

Softly to rest,

Here in my crystalline,

Here in my breast!