Thus spake the King to Marygold,
His speech was soft with many sighs:
" Why, Princess, may not I behold
The wonder of your star-lit eyes?
Your veil, Beloved, is the cloud
Of amber that obscures the sun.
Strange is the vow that bids you shroud
Your sweetness like a sad-faced nun.

" Perhaps some spirit wrought with guile
Around your heart a magic spell.
Behind the veil you weep and smile,
Perhaps you hate me — who can tell?
Your lips are silent as the grave,
And with strange fear my cheek is pale;
Have mercy on the King, your slave,
O Princess with the Golden Veil!

" Thrice hallowed was the glorious hour
When through the veil I felt your breath,
More fragrant than a passion flower,
Dear as a mother's words at death.
Yet the sad thought beyond control
Gnaws at my heart, and eats and grips,
That I have never known your soul,
Or read the secret from your lips.

" And never shall I understand,
And men shall hope and strive and fail,
Until some Prince from Fairyland
Shall kiss your mouth and lift the veil.
And, though my heart be black with night,
My regal lips that may not quail,
Shall smile as Arthur's, when his sight
In guiltless hands beheld the Grail —
O Princess with the Golden Veil! "