But I brought it back again--
Brought it back from storm and battle--
Brought it back without a stain;
And once more I knelt before her,
And I laid it at her feet,
Saying, "Wilt thou own it, Princess?
There at least is no defeat!"
Scornfully she looked upon me
With a measured eye and cold--
Scornfully she viewed the token,
Though her fingers wrought the gold;
And she answered, faintly flushing,
"Hast thou kept it, then, so long?
Worthy matter for a minstrel
To be told in knightly song!
Worthy of a bold Provençal,
Pacing through the peaceful plain,
Singing of his lady's favour,
Boasting of her silken chain,
Yet scarce worthy of a warrior
Sent to wrestle for a crown.
Is this all that thou hast brought me
From thy fields of high renown?
Is this all the trophy carried
From the lands where thou hast been?
It was broidered by a Princess,
Canst thou give it to a Queen?"
Woman's love is writ in water!
Woman's faith is traced in sand!
Backwards--backwards let me wander