The South had saluted her mouth
Till her mouth was sweet with the South.
And the North with his breathings low
Made the blood in her veins like his snow.
And the West with his smiles and his art
Poured his honey of life in her heart.
And the East had in whisperings told
His secrets more precious than gold.
So she grew to a beautiful thought
Which a godhead of love had wrought.
As strange how the power begot it
As why — but to kill it and rot it.