Haro! haro! Judge now betwixt this woman and me, Haro She leaves me bond, who found me free. Of love and hope she hath drained me dry— Yea, barren as a drought-struck sky; She hath not left me tears for weeping, Nor will my eyelids close in sleeping. I have gathered all my life’s-blood up— Haro! She hath drunk and thrown aside the cup. Shall she not give me back my days? Haro! I made them perfect for her praise. There was no flower in all the brake I found not fairer for her sake; There was no sweet thought I did not fashion For aid and servant to my passion. Labor and learning worthless were, Haro! Save that I made them gifts for her. Shall she not give me back my nights? Haro! Give me sweet sleep for brief delights? Lo, in the night’s wan mid I lie, And ghosts of hours that are dead go by,— Hours of a love that died unshriven; Of a love in change for my manhood given. She caressed and slew my soul’s white truth, Haro! Shall she not give me back my youth? Haro! Haro! Tell thou me not of a greater judge, Haro! It is He who hath my sin in grudge. Yea, from God I appeal to thee; God hath not part or place for me. Thou who hast sinned, judge thou my sinning: I have staked my life for a woman’s winning; She hath stripped me of all save remembering— Haro! Right thou me, right thou me, Harold the King!
The Appeal to Harold
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