To womanhood proud, that the hill-winds seemed
To give their moods, like melody, to;
And the stars, their thoughts, like dreams love dreamed—
The only glad thing that the sad land knew.
My Lady, you know, how nobly born!
Greatly born, with a head that rose
Like a dream of empire; love and scorn
Made haunts of her eyes; and her lips—twin bows
Of bloom, where wit was a pleasant thorn.
And I—oh, I was nobody: one