Queen, he is thine; wound deeply as thou wilt;
Sweeter smart than all the blood he has spilt!
Cling round him; fold in thy divine embrace;
Lift tow’rds his the appeal of thy bright face;
Whisper love’s little nothings, till deep calm
Steep his whole being in a honeyed balm;
And he forget ’twas his murderous car
Spread frenzy through our streets of civil War!”
But the fever has abated; so long
As it is stayed, I will resume my song;—