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Song of the Low-Caste Wife
What have you given me for my strong sons?
O scion of kings!
In new veins the blood of old kings runs cold.
Your people thinking of old victories, lose the lust of conquest,
Your men guard what they have.
Your women nurse their silver pots.
Dead beauty mocks hot blood!
What shall these women conceive of their chill loves
But still more pots?
But I have conceived of you new men;
Boys brave from the breast,
Running and striving like no children of your House,
And with their brave new brains
Making new myth.
My people were without, while yours were kings.
They sang the song of exile in low places