Classic Poem

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
And in the stress of growth knew pain.
The unprepared world pressed hard upon them;
Women bent beneath burdens, while cold struck babes,
But they arose strong from the fight,
Hungry from their oppression.
And I am full of lust,
Which is not stayed with your old glories.
Give me for all old things that greatest glory —
A little growth.

Am I your mate because I share your bed?
Go then! Find each day a new mate outside your house.
I am your mate if I can share your vision.
Have you no vision, king-descended?
Come share mine!
Will you give me this, for your sons?
O scion of kings!