HAWKING.
BY EDITH MAY.
She had drawn rein within the castle courtUnder its arching gateway, and there stood,Curbing the hot steed that, with upreared hoofs,Bearing upon the gilded bit, pressed forward.Her eyes had measured distance, and her lips,Parted and eager, seemed to drink the airNow fresh with morning, and her light form keptIts throne exultingly. A single plumeWaved from her hunting-cap, and the quick windClose to the floating ringlets of her hairPressed down its snowy fringes. But the foldsOf her rich dress hung motionless, and its hemSwept to the shaven turf. Near by, a pageHeld in a leash of greyhounds, and a hawkSat hooded on the bend of her gloved wrist.
She had drawn rein within the castle courtUnder its arching gateway, and there stood,Curbing the hot steed that, with upreared hoofs,Bearing upon the gilded bit, pressed forward.Her eyes had measured distance, and her lips,Parted and eager, seemed to drink the airNow fresh with morning, and her light form keptIts throne exultingly. A single plumeWaved from her hunting-cap, and the quick windClose to the floating ringlets of her hairPressed down its snowy fringes. But the foldsOf her rich dress hung motionless, and its hemSwept to the shaven turf. Near by, a pageHeld in a leash of greyhounds, and a hawkSat hooded on the bend of her gloved wrist.
She had drawn rein within the castle courtUnder its arching gateway, and there stood,Curbing the hot steed that, with upreared hoofs,Bearing upon the gilded bit, pressed forward.Her eyes had measured distance, and her lips,Parted and eager, seemed to drink the airNow fresh with morning, and her light form keptIts throne exultingly. A single plumeWaved from her hunting-cap, and the quick windClose to the floating ringlets of her hairPressed down its snowy fringes. But the foldsOf her rich dress hung motionless, and its hemSwept to the shaven turf. Near by, a pageHeld in a leash of greyhounds, and a hawkSat hooded on the bend of her gloved wrist.
She had drawn rein within the castle court
Under its arching gateway, and there stood,
Curbing the hot steed that, with upreared hoofs,
Bearing upon the gilded bit, pressed forward.
Her eyes had measured distance, and her lips,
Parted and eager, seemed to drink the air
Now fresh with morning, and her light form kept
Its throne exultingly. A single plume
Waved from her hunting-cap, and the quick wind
Close to the floating ringlets of her hair
Pressed down its snowy fringes. But the folds
Of her rich dress hung motionless, and its hem
Swept to the shaven turf. Near by, a page
Held in a leash of greyhounds, and a hawk
Sat hooded on the bend of her gloved wrist.