Kneel to the beautiful women who bear us this strange brave fruit.

Man with his soul so noble: man half god and half brute.

Women bear him in pain that he may bring them tears.

He is a king on earth, he rules for a term of years.

And the conqueror’s prize is dust and lost endeavour.

And the beaten man becomes a story for ever.

For the gods employ strange means to bring their will to be.

We are in the wise gods’ hands and more we cannot see.