Sonnet—To Blois

Beside the dancing Loire your castle stands, Steep roofed and gabled over pillared arch. Its history counts the deeds of many hands; Speaks of the hall resounding to the march Of armored host or laughing cavalcade, While garden walls tell of the times they caught The breathless whispering of love essayed; There pride with pride seems never to have fought. For though the heart of Balafré grew cold His corpse long hidden by the guard-room door— While brave De Guise betrayed, so we are told, Expired in anguish, chained to dungeon floor; Kind time has healed such scars of human pains, And utter loveliness alone remains. MORRIS TYLER.