In a kingdom of mist and moonlight,
Or ever the world was known,
Past leagues of unsailed water
There reigned a king whose daughter
Was fair as a starry stone.
The Northern Lights were daylight,
And day was twilight there:
The king was wise and hoary,
And his daughter, like the glory
Of seven kingdoms, fair.
The day was dim as moonlight;
The night was misty gray,
With slips of dull stars, bluer
Where the princess met her wooer,
A page like the month of May.
His face was white as moonlight,
His hair, a crumpled gold:
Oh, she was wise as youth is,
And he was young as truth is,
And the king was old, was old.
When day grew out of the moonlight,
Across the misty wold,
A-hunting or a-hawking
They rode, forever mocking
The good gray king and old.
At night, in mist and moonlight,
Where hung the horns and whips,
In courts to the kennels leading,
Or where the hounds were feeding,
He kissed her eyes and lips.
They whispered in the moonlight,
And kissed in moon and mist:--
"Enough! we're done with hiding!"--
There came the old king riding,
The hawk upon his wrist.
Oh, fain was she and eager,
And he was over fain;--
"His cup and couch are ready."--
"Then let thy hand be steady--
And he'll not wake again."
Is it the mist or moonlight?
Or a dead face staring up?--
The old king's couch was ready,
And his daughter's hand was steady
Giving the poisoned cup.