Monologue

Queen Monologue from Chastelard, a Tragedy

From Chastelard, a Tragedy by Algernon Charles Swinburne

female · melancholic · 41 sec

I am tired too soon; I could have danced down hours Two years gone hence and felt no wearier. One grows much older northwards, my fair lord; I wonder men die south; meseems all France Smells sweet with living, and bright breath of days That keep men far from dying. Peace; pray you now, No dancing more. Sing, sweet, and make us mirth; We have done with dancing measures: sing that song You call the song of love at ebb.

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