Laughed to her throat where my mouth’s touch had gone.
How is this, ruined Queen?
Who lured her vivid beauty so
To be that strained chill thing that moves
So ghastly midst her young brood
Of pregnant shoots that she for men did grow?
Where are the strong men who made these their loves?
Spring! God pity your mood!
THE TROOP SHIP
Grotesque and queerly huddled