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ANNA IVANOVNA, by                    
First Line: Her honor flashed cross-sworded in her eyes
Last Line: Plow centuries of women, true and wise.


Her honor flashed cross-sworded in her eyes,
Eyes of cool grey that judged and were at peace,
Eyes of the timid grey of morning skies
Or limpid grey of pools where ripples cease.
And he looked in her eyes and knew that never,
Though he should scar her body, or write shame
Upon her breasts, dungeon her pure endeavor,
And into gutters foul spit her fair name,
Could he beat out those crossed swords in her eyes.
For they came from pride, not in ermine gown
On cringing limbs, not in a golden crown
Of queenly beauty or high-chosen bride,
But of being sired by peasants at whose side
Plow centuries of women, true and wise.





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