You came to me in another dream:
Remote, cold in aspect, impassive eyes.
You did not quite haunt me, but did seem to rise
From mel'ncholic milk as rich ebon cream
Dark as the day I plumbed all your lies,
Dark as the project you sought to disguise.
Hateful agenda! worth not a scream
But a pitiful sigh for my dignity maimed.
To tilt at my honor and drive home the lance!
Are you pleased with your deed and the victory claimed?
Such a sad send-up of high old Romance:
The plund'rer wins pathos, the wounded lies blamed.
Guard your foul horde, Whore, though no peace it buys!
'Twill serve as your cairn; e'en the conqueror dies.
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