  As from the nectar-laden Lily the wild bee sips, A British queen, sweet maiden, Drained with her loving lips The poison that was filling Her husband’s veins with death, Her love with new life thrilling His heart with each drawn breath. Not less thy love, sweet maiden, Nor less thy bravery, For when I came, o’erladen With poisoned hopes, to thee, With smiles and shy caresses The venom thou didst drain, And, healing my distresses, Didst give new life again. |
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