The wide world's vanquished royalty, and so
Rushed on his own defeat. For, like unto
A cloud, that caverned the bright moon all eve,
That thunder splits and, virgin triumph, there
She sails a silver aspect, so the helm,
Hurled from her head, unhusked her golden hair,
And glorious, glowing face. By his own blow
Was Behram vanquished. All his wavering strength
Swerved from its purpose. With no final stroke
Stunned stood he and surrendered: stared and stared,