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 She wore a stately diadem— In the golden long ago; Wrought by a cunning craftsman's hand, And fashioned from a battle brand, Full fit for the queen of a soldier land; Her sceptre was a sabre keen, Her robe a robe of radiant green, My queenly love, my royal love, In the golden long ago.

Alas for my love, my royal love, Of the golden long ago! For gone are all her warrior bands, And rusted are her battle brands, And broken her sabre bright and keen, And torn her robe of radiant green, A slave where she was a stainless queen, My own love, my royal love, Of the golden long ago.

But there is hope for my royal love Of the golden long ago; Beyond the broad and shining sea Gathers a stubborn chivalry, That yet will come to make her free, And hedge her round with gleaming spears, And crown her queen of all the years, My own love, my royal love, Of the golden long ago.