Count monologue (Act 6) — Becket and other plays

Alas, ten summers! A lady that was beautiful as day Sat by me at a rustic festival With other beauties on a mountain meadow, And she was the most beautiful of all; Then but fifteen, and still as beautiful. The mountain flowers grew thickly round about. I made a wreath with some of these; I ask'd A ribbon from her hair to bind it with; I whisper'd, Let me crown you Queen of Beauty, And softly placed the chaplet on her head. A colour, which has colour'd all my life, Flush'd in her face; then I was call'd away; And presently all rose, and so departed. Ah! she had thrown my chaplet on the grass, And there I found it. [_Lets his hands fall, holding wreath despondingly_.