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Queen Henrietta Maria (To Ellen Terry) In the lone1 tent, waiting for victory, She stands with eyes marred2 by the mists of pain, Like some wan3 lily overdrenched with rain: The clamorous4 clang of arms, the ensanguined sky, War's ruin, and the wreck5 of chivalry6 To her proud soul no common fear can bring: Bravely she tarrieth for her Lord the King, Her soul a-flame with passionate7 ecstasy8. O Hair of Gold! O Crimson9 Lips! O Face Made for the luring10 and the love of man! With thee I do forget the toil11 and stress, The loveless road that knows no resting place, Time's straitened pulse, the soul's dread12 weariness, My freedom, and my life republican!
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