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Poem: The Ring

When I was flying before the king
In the wood of Valognes in my hiding,
Although I had not anything
I sent a woman a golden ring.

A ring of the Moors beyond Leon
With emerald and with diamond stone,
And a writing no man ever had known,
And an opal standing all alone.

The shape of the ring the heart to bind:
The emerald turns from cold to kind:
The writing makes her sure to find: -
But evil opal changed her mind.

Now when the king was dead, was he,
I came back hurriedly over the sea
From the long rocks in Normany
To Boshan that is by Selsey.
And we clipt each other knee to knee,
But what I had was lost to me.

- Hilaire Belloc
Indexing:

Posts from This Journal by “poetry” Tag

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