2oth April 2014

Sonnet 132

Eyes, eyes, everyone's eyes searching through me

For pity, for mourning, or rank disdain,

Not finding who's gone, who I'll never be -

Have her fans guessed who's simulating pain?

If it's Nothing - nothing; if not - Heaven

That's waiting for her far side of life's East,

With that full Starre that ushers in the Eaven

Halfed in it's glory by her resting West.

Mary's* white mourning veil creeps round your face,

What would they find carved on this scotch queen's heart?  

 Road to Fotheringay,** playing her part,

Every stranger's wearing my mourner's blacke,

And all they foule that thy complexion lacke.


* Mary (1542 -1587) Queen of Scots, Reigned 1542 - 62, in White Mourning.  Painting by Francois Clouet.

** "The Royal Road to Fotheringay" by Jean Plaidy.   Tells story of   Mary's early years in the French court.