It was what you bore with you, Woman,
       &nbsp Not inly were,
That throned you from all else human,
       &nbsp However fair!

It was that strange freshness you carried
       &nbsp Into a soul
Whereon no thought of yours tarried
       &nbsp Two moments at all.

And out from his spirit flew death,
       &nbsp And bale, and ban,
Like the corn-chaff under the breath
       &nbsp Of the winnowing-fan.