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    Queen Henrietta Maria

    by Oscar Wilde
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    (To Ellen Terry)

    In the lone tent, waiting for victory,
    She stands with eyes marred by the mists of pain,
    Like some wan lily overdrenched with rain:
    The clamorous clang of arms, the ensanguined sky,
    War's ruin, and the wreck of chivalry
    To her proud soul no common fear can bring:
    Bravely she tarrieth for her Lord the King,
    Her soul a-flame with passionate ecstasy.
    O Hair of Gold! O Crimson Lips! O Face
    Made for the luring and the love of man!
    With thee I do forget the toil and stress,
    The loveless road that knows no resting place,
    Time's straitened pulse, the soul's dread weariness,
    My freedom, and my life republican!
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