They never until then of beauty tasted:
So I, by lonely contemplation led
To muse awhile amid the silent dead—
Turn me from all around I hear or see—
From all of Shakspeare and of great to thee:
And think on all thy wrongs—on all the shame
That dims for ever thine oppressor's name;
On all thy faults, nor few nor far between,
But then thou wert—a woman and a queen.
Proud titles, even in a barb'rous age,