Old Kraken’s look hard Winter wears
     When sweeps the wild snow-blast: 
     He had the hug of Arctic bears
     For captives he held fast.

     2—­I

     Archduchess Anne sat carved in frost,
     Shut off from priest and spouse. 
     Her lips were locked, her arms were crossed,
     Her eyes were in her brows.

     II

     One hand enclosed a paper scroll,
     Held as a strangled asp. 
     So may we see the woman’s soul
     In her dire tempter’s grasp.

     III

     Along that scroll Count Louis’ doom
     Throbbed till the letters flamed. 
     She saw him in his scornful bloom,
     She saw him chained and shamed.

     IV

     Around that scroll Count Louis’ fate
     Was acted to her stare,
     And hate in love and love in hate
     Fought fell to smite or spare.

     V

     Between the day that struck her old,
     And this black star of days,
     Her heart swung like a storm-bell tolled
     Above a town ablaze.

     VI

His beauty pressed to intercede, His beauty served him ill. — Not Vengeance, ’tis his rebel’s deed, ’Tis Justice, not our will!

     VII

     Yet who had sprung to life’s full force
     A breast that loveless dried? 
     But who had sapped it at the source,
     With scarlet to her pride!

     VIII

     He brought her waning heart as ’twere
     New message from the skies. 
     And he betrayed, and left on her
     The burden of their sighs.

     IX

     In floods her tender memories poured;
     They foamed with waves of spite: 
     She crushed them, high her heart outsoared,
     To keep her mind alight.

     X

— The crawling creature, called in scorn A woman!—­with this pen We sign a paper that may warn His crowing fellowmen.

     XI

— We read them lesson of a power They slight who do us wrong.  That bitter hour this bitter hour Provokes; by turns the strong!

     XII

— That we were woman once is known:  That we are Justice now, Above our sex, above the throne, Men quaking shall avow.

     XIII

     Archduchess Anne ascending flew,
     Her heart outsoared, but felt
     The demon of her sex pursue,
     Incensing or to melt.

     XIV

     Those counterfloods below at leap
     Still in her breast blew storm,
     And farther up the heavenly steep
     Wrestled in angels’ form.

     XV

     To disentangle one clear wish
     Not of her sex, she sought;
     And womanish to womanish
     Discerned in lighted thought.

     XVI

     With Louis’ chance it went not well
     When at herself she raged;
     A woman, of whom men might tell
     She doted, crazed and aged.