Gnarled hideousness, haled back her marvelous head,
Back, back by all its braids of gathered hair,
Till her full bosom's clamorous loveliness
Stark on the moon burst bare. Low leaning then,
With mocking laughter, "Yea, by God's own blood!
The King, O thou adulteress!" and a blade
Glanced, thin as ice, plunged hard, hard in her heart.