But something held my arm. And then they saw me. Swift her gaze was set With eye and cry of love illimited Upon her Heart-king. Hurling my iron to the bushes there, I bade them stay. And, as if brain and breast Were passive, they walked with me to the stair.
Love fills no cupboard.
Now grown wholly hers, I handed her the gold, her jewels all, And him the choicest of her robes diverse. It was my friend. I have struck well. They fly, But carry wounds that none can cicatrize.