As brave helios' steeds retire
behind this ice-choked horizon
tinting grinding floes incarnadrine
A boreal frost rimes my beard and
biting wind recalls fond moments -
the edge of my lady's blade at my nape
keener than any shard of ancient crystal
I might lay before her,
An embarrassment of riches
rooms of gold and precious scintillants
would pale into insignificant trifles
before the luminance of her visage.
Long have I journeyed in her name
beyond the comfortable bounds of latitude
to bring the glory of her word,
the mercy of her hand.
My capital now distant in time and space
Behemoth wading green oceans and frozen steppes
I have traversed them all and gladly
would do so again, should she command
her hand, her gaze, her glory
to be shared, to be revered across empire.
I hasten home, now my love
bringing word that your claim is laid
on these vagrant lands beyond the shores
of great Albion resounding
its hallowed spires of burnished brass,
in purifying tides of steam.
A cleansing tide radiates forth
bringing order and modernity
to the far flung corners of the world
telegraphing the visage of the god-queen
in her majestic splendour.
I crave the winds to bear me with all speed
To Albion, embodying wisdom and virtue
whose beating heart resides in her hallowed and regal breast
which god willing, your champion shall behold
on return to Londones gleaming spires,
its capitals shining streets.
Till then, my queen, my love I remain,
your mortal instrument. Your paladin. Your hero.