THE COURT OF THE PROFANE. 
25 
 Haggard and hateful, once again ; 
And taunted him.  His bastard blood 
Quailed, but his violent soul withstood. 
 
He blenched, and then with eyes of flame, 
 “ Who is on my side ?  Who ? ”  he said. 
Three eunuchs, passionless, grown tame, 
 Grinned from behind her laughing head. 
“ Throw down that woman ! ”  And my breath 
Caught as they flung her out to death. 
 
I think I died that moment.  He, 
 Foaming for vengeance and blood-lust, 
Laughed his coarse laugh of hideous glee. 
 Her sweet bad body in the dust 
He trampled.  Royal from the womb, 
A martyred murderess lacks a tomb ! 
 
A tigress woman, clad with sin, 
 And shod with infamy, who pressed 
The bloody winepress of my skin, 
 And plucked the purple of my breast— 
Her lovers in their hearts shall keep 
Her memory passionate and deep. 
 
They cast her forth on Naboth’s field 
 Still living, in her harlot’s dress ; 
Her belly stript, her thighs concealed, 
 For shame’s sake and for love’s no less. 
Night falls ;  the gaping crowds abide 
No longer by her stiffening side.