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Gave shelter to him as a monk;

And when this bitter cup he’d drunk

Down to the dregs, an abbey meet

He founded, hight the Paraclete,

For Heloïse, and there with good

Success she ruled the sisterhood.

Her love-lorn story hath she told

In letters which she penned with bold

Unshamed assurance; therein she

Declares monk Abelard to be

Her lord and master; and some say

These far-famed letters but betray

Delirious love. When first the dress

She donned of abbess, her distress

Broke forth in these wild words:

If he

Who rules Rome’s Empire courteously

Deigned to demand that I, as wife,

To him would dedicate my life,

In proud estate, I should reply:

Much rather would I live and die

Thy mistress, wrapped in shame pro­found,

Than empress of the world be crowned.

But never since that day till now

Hath such a woman lived, I trow.

I doubt not ’twas her reading wide

Had taught her wisely to decide

All questions wherein woman’s heart

Is bound to bear so great a part,

And so when love she felt disturb

Her soul, she knew his power to curb;