A Dove On Distant Oaks
Jealousy is the rage of a man,
Whose passion unyielding as the grave
Burns like flames of blazing fire, whose fan
In his hand winnows success from death's plan.
Love goes awry for his fugitive slave.
The king's enemy the rest of his days,
He provokes anger and the fear of threat;
Behaving wisely in all his ways,
Escaping the throes, betimes, he prays.
How useless in full view to spread a net!
Yet bearing the olive branch, he kept
(When once he drank from royal fountains-
Beyond flew arrows and two souls wept)
His faith still, twice, as his master slept;
He was as a partridge in the mountains.
Now, over the house mounted on wings,
As waylayers waylay their own souls
Beneath the tree by bows, swords and slings;
The servant shepherd is lord of kings,
And jealous bones are only heaps of coals.
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