See armies, nations, bow beneath my word,
Then let the bitter English tongue be heard!”
“Love! Love!” I cried, “stretch out your sceptred hand,
Put from you the soft vowels that sing of Spain—
Look! Look! I kneel before you in love’s pain!”
III
No! No! I told you once, twice, thrice,—this wise,
And firmly I said it despite the hand
That clung about my breasts, the vice-like band
That passion set on me; despite your eyes