Yet humble enough to parade her sins All the filthiness inside her spawn From her marrow to the ravens' beaks Why should she like to lick the leaks Of her obstinate mind and laugh on? Was she acting to be corrupted or cleaned? No one knows her gizzards' skin but one Whose sheepish heart clothed in wolf's silk Yet she only chew the meat before the milk Proudly proclaimed to possess a love so true And believed that no one should ever construe The subtle quarels of her mind and heart!