O let her name be told
At dusk — while fishermen
Take nobles on the oar
And pass the fiery dice
Of wineshops at the harbour,
That flush them in the haze:
There is a darker town
Of ships upon the wave.

The morning she rode down
Where topsails, that had brought
A blessing from the Pope,
Were scrolled in early water:
Such light was on her cheekbone
And chin — who would not praise
In holy courts of Europe
The wonder of our days?

All saw in that cathedral
The great Earls kneel with her;
The open book was carried,
They got up at the gospel.
In joy the clergy prayed,
The white-clad acolytes
Were chaining, and unchaining,
Fire-hearted frankincense.

Upon her night of marriage,
Confessions were devout;
Murmuring, as religion
Flamed by, men saw her brow.
The Spaniards rolled with flag
And drum in quick relays;
Our nobles were encamping
Each day around Kinsale.

But in deceit of smoke
And fire, the spoilers came:
Tower and unmortar'd wall broke
Rich flight to street and gate.
O she has curbed her bright head
Upon the chancel rail
With shame, and by her side
Those heretics have lain.