Xvi

Words urged in vain, Elvire! You waste your quart and tierce, Lunge at a phantom here, try fence in fairy-land. For me, I own defeat, ask but to understand The acknowledged victory of whom I call my queen, Sexless and bloodless sprite: though mischievous and mean, Yet free and flower-like too, with loveliness for law, And self-sustainment made morality.