Smoke of battle lifts and lies
Sullen in her smouldering eyes,
Where are seen
Captive bales of merchandise.
Here are shudderings of spears,
Webs of ambush, nets of fears,
Here have been
Prisons, and a place of tears.
In her hair have souls been caught;
Here are snared the strength of thought.
Pride of craft,
Here desire has come to nought.
Have not her lips kissed again
Lips that kissed for love's sake, when
Her lips laughed
Like a passing-bell for men?
This is what Rossetti says
In the crisis of a face.
