To W. A.
Or ever the knightly years were gone With the old world to the grave, I was a King in Babylon And you were a Christian Slave.
I saw, I took, I cast you by, I bent and broke your pride.
You loved me well, or I heard them lie, But your longing was denied.
Surely I knew that by and by You cursed your gods and died.
And a myriad suns have set and shone Since then upon the grave Decreed by the King in Babylon To her that had been his Slave.
The pride I trampled is now my scathe, For it tramples me again.
The old resentment lasts like death, For you love, yet you refrain.
I break my heart on your hard unfaith, And I break my heart in vain.
Yet not for an hour do I wish undone The deed beyond the grave, When I was a King in Babylon And you were a Virgin Slave.
