To these I turn, in these I trust, –
Brother Lead and sister Steel:
To his blind power I make appeal;
I guard her beauty clean from rust.

He spins and burns, and loves the air;
He splits a skull to win my praise:
But up the nobly marching days
She glitters naked, cold and fair.

Sweet sister, grant your soldier this,
That in good fury he may feel
The body where he sets his heel
Quail from your downward-darting kiss.