Where petty trade sought petty gains.
And in the morning’s mist there sate
With love that would not wince nor fail,
Poor womankind beside the gate
Of hospital and grated jail.
Sir Self forsook his stubborn mule,
And, sadly, homeward paced the ground;
Quoth he: “If womankind doth rule,
May be nor slave nor fool is bound.
’Tis not her beauty nor her wiles,