Triumph! Shall we not triumph who have seen
Those fifty years round on from sun to snow,
From snow to sun, since when, a girlish Queen
In that far June-tide's glow,
Your brow first felt that golden weight well-worn,
Which tried the Woman's heart, but hath not over-borne?
Fifty fair years which, like to all things fair,
Are flecked with shadow, yet whereon the sun
Hath never set in shame or in despair,