how is she the queen of her kingdom
but with full right to have it, or not:

what would matter to her more, and
what could matter to her less;

as she treads soft over this earth she holds,
what light will lead and guide her sight?

as right as the rays of the sun-light,
long does her grace draw over the land,

n’the winds of her will are carried out free;

so spacious is the sky holding her word,

each breathe from her breast is worn by all,

how subtle is its call to all her desire—

with all that’s ever met, what may ever be so fair,
that any place of beauty lay beyond false compare—

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