O Queen, there’s many a word that I could say,
Much fouling sand could shake from out my locks
That’s flown thereon but in the stress of storm.
I will not do it. Believe but this alone—
Now, now, I see what I have done, and yet
It scarce was done before I felt the urge
To make atonement. If your lord, the King,
Had stood not in the path that points to Orcus
I long had been a shadow among shadows
And you been cleansed if yet unrecompensed.