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,
And 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.