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Rh I garner to my crown of woe

These sins of Woman long ago.

O lust so old, so hard of heart!

I lose me in the stories told,

Untimely. Have these walls no part

In ravening of desire, as bold

And evil as those deeds of old?

The House with dread thereof doth start

From dreaming. On, through woe or weal

A woman brooding planned her path,

Against a warrior robed in steel,

And armies trembled at his wrath.

And he is gone; and we must kneel

On a cold hearth and bow in fear

Before a woman's trembling spear.

Lo, the sword hovereth at the throat

For Justice' sake. It scorneth not

What the proud man to earth has trod.

Its edge is bitter to the bone;

It stabbeth on, thro' iron, thro' stone,

Till it reach him who hath forgot

That Ruth which is the law of God.

For Justice is an oak that yet

Standeth; and Doom the Smith doth whet

His blade in the dark. But what is this?

A child led to the House from lands

Far off, and blood upon his hands!

The great Erinys wreaks her debt,

Whose thought is as the vast abyss.