Will you be my queen?

You are my queen: then just a pawn am I

Held tightly by your hands, mayhap a rook

Hid furtively aside in a cosy nook;

Or a knight on horseback gladly jumping high

In winding paths; or with a prayerful eye

A bishop, dodging oaths as such he took,

And with authority a godly look

To stride obliquely, evil to deny;

You are my queen: yet if I be so bold

To be the very board you saunter on,

Take pains to lighten the steps I’ll gently hold—

And if I be a king, agèd, forlorn,

And onto you the ailing I should lean,

Will you then be—oh, will you be my queen?

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