You scarce would deem you caught the gleam of steel below her breast;
Beneath the wide imperial robe, that, fire-new, sweeps the ground,
With what now seems a diadem, and now a helmet, crowned.
But mark yon maid, of loveliness more radiant and more rare
Than all the showers of gems and flowers that star her night of hair;
For strength and grace to fit that face, what music but the tongue
Wherein stern Dante chaunted, and silvery Petrarch sung?
Queen among Queens! But never Queen full-robed and crowned till now,
The double diadem of Rome on her exultant brow!
Who notes the dust, who recks the rust, that dulls or dims its sheen,