From her porphyry couch let her lean,
With the reek of the circus around her—
Who is centre and soul of the scene:
Grey eyes that glance keen as the eagle
When he swoops to his prey from on high;
Bold arms by the red gold made regal—
White breast never vexed with a sigh:
And haughty her mien as of any
Her sires whom the foemen knew well,
As they rode through the grey mist at Cannæ,