Ah — she was fair, this daughter of a queen!
Jewels upon her breast's soft fall of snow,
Jewels — in golden hair — and fierce aglow,
The gem of pride upon her brow serene!
Sleeping soft moonstone, emerald's baleful green,
A single sapphire, singing soft and low
Of wars for beauty's sake in years ago,
And flaming opal — wed with tourmaline.
Yet was there one great stone she might not wear,
And so her eyes were weary, and her mouth
Curved in the listless line of vain desire.
No diamond pure was hers the right to bear,
But — crimson poison petal of the South —
The ruby shone in deep unholy fire.