'She will change,' I cried. 'Into a withered crone.' The heart in my side, that so still had lain, In noble rage replied and beat upon the bone: 'Uplift those eyes and throw those glances unafraid: she would as bravely show did all the fabric fade; no withered crone I saw before the world was made.' Abashed by that report, for the heart cannot lie, I knelt in the dirt. And all shall bend the knee to my offended heart until it pardon me.