When, mad in their mirth, they raised dust to soil thy robe, O Beautiful, it made my heart sick.  
I cried to thee and said, “Take thy rod of punishment and judge them.”
 
The morning light struck upon those eyes, red with the of night; the place of the white lily greeted their burning breath; the stars through the depth of the sacred dark stared at their carousing—at those that raised dust to soil thy robe, O Beautiful!
 
Thy seat was in the flower garden, in the birds’ notes in springtime: in the shady river-banks, where the trees muttered in answer to the muttering of the waves.
 
O my Lover, they were pitiless in their passion.
 
They prowled in the dark to snatch thy to deck their own desires.
 
When they had struck thee and thou wert pained, it pierced me to the quick, and I cried to thee and said, “Take thy sword, O my Lover, and judge them!&rdquo............