Astounded that the woman thus should teach me
How hearted I, the man, should meet my death.
Yes, Queen, it prickles sense, this thing you’ve done,
Nor less, I hide it not, your Being’s self;
Yet, this despite, the hero-soul I honour
Which lets you take your leave of life as though
You left this fair world at your journey’s end
No longer worth a fleeting backward glance.
And this brave mood half reconciles me to you.
Mar.