Ode to Constance
Widowed royalty unjustly denied
The crown for her son, rightful heir usurped
At home before yet able to espy
His own ambitions others disburse,
Alone berating fickle pacts of men
And changing tongues so sorrow stoops most proud,
Indignant justice she craves forgotten
By France. Yet hopes renew when Pope denounced
And war restored with England’s confused lords.
Resolve and fierce will command but in brief.
True claim becomes much mourned prisoner
And drives bold spirit to sensible grief.
Hairs, freedoms, and sorrows that can’t be bound
Only in death for loss of all is found.