I have seen him in wine, and I fancied ’twas then that he loved me the best;
Though I think I would rather have one sweet, passionate word from the heart
Than a year of caresses that may with the wine that creates them depart.
But ever before, in his wine, toward me he showed honor and grace;
He was King, I was Queen, and those nobles, he made them remember their place.
But now all is changed; I am vile, they are honored, they push me aside,
A butt for Memucan and Shethar and Meres, gone mad in their pride!
Shall I faint, shall I pine, shall I sicken and die for the loss of his love?
Not I; I am queen of myself, though the stars fall from heaven above.
The stars! ha! the torment is there, for my light is put out by a star,