Mother and maid and soldier, bearing best
— Her girl's lithe body under matron gray,
— And opening new eyes on each new day
With faith concealed and courage unconfessed;
Jealous to cloak a blessing in a jest,
— Clothe beauty carefully in disarray,
— And love absurdly, that no word betray
The worship all her deeds make manifest:

Armored in smiles, a motley Britomart —
— Her lance is high adventure, tipped with scorn;
— Her banner to the suns and winds unfurled,
Washed white with laughter; and beneath her heart,
— Shrined in a garland of laborious thorn,
— Blooms the unchanging Rose of all the World.