And leaps into the future chance,
Submitting all things to desire.
Half-grown as yet, a child, and vain,
She cannot fight the fear of death.
What is she, cut from love and faith,
But some wild Pallas from the brain
Of Demons? fiery hot to burst
All barriers in her onward race
For power. Let her know her place,
She is the second, not the first.