And crowneth man a king and maketh man a slave,
Her who rose rose-red from the rose-white wave:
And her who ruled with sword-blue blade-bright eyes
The helpless hearts of men in queenly wise,
And all were bowed and broken as on a wheel,
Yet no soft love-cloud long could sheath that stainless steel,
Her tiger-hearted and false and glorious,
With flower-sweet throat and float of warm hair odorous:
These sing I, and whatso else that burns and glows,
And is as fire and foam-flowers and the rose