As from the nectar-laden
Lily the wild bee sips,
A British queen, sweet maiden,
Drained with her loving lips
The poison that was filling
Her husband’s veins with death,
Her love with new life thrilling
His heart with each drawn breath.
Not less thy love, sweet maiden,
Nor less thy bravery,
For when I came, o’erladen
With poisoned hopes, to thee,
With smiles and shy caresses
The venom thou didst drain,
And, healing my distresses,
Didst give new life again.