XIII.
What guilt was there, apportion it aright
To him who fixed the gages of the fight;
Blame man, who, reckless of the woman’s fate,
In greed for meaner pleasure lost the great;
Blame him, the vaunted sage, who knew her mind
Peer to his own in skill and wit refined,
Yet left the after-ages to bemoan
The waste of woman worth that dawned and die unknown.