John
Presland.
From
her
forehead
pushed
her
hair
Drooping
wearily ,
Shivered
by
the water
there :
“ Oh , soul's
a
curse ! ”
said
she.
RIZZIO 'S
SONG .
From
" Mary , Queen
of
Scots .”
W
HAT
are
roses
for,
my
Queen
,
w
White
and
crimson
,
leafed
with
green
?
What are flowers
for
,
bud
and
leaf
?
Just
to
deck
the brows
of
Love
,
An
hour brief
,
an
hour brief
.
What
is
life
for,
O
my Queen
,
With
its
days
of
shade and
sheen
,
Morn
's
and
evening
's
pageantry
?
Just
to
glad
the
eyes
of
Love
,
Quick
to
see
,
quick
to
see
.
What
is
death
for
,
O
my
Queen
,
Hungry
jaws
,
and
sickle
keen
,
Shedding
bloom
and
withering
leaf
?
Death
's
a
priest
to
consecrate
Love
with
grief
,
love
with
grief
.
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