We are the smirched. Queen Honor
is the spotless.
We slept thro’ wars where Honor
could not sleep.
We were faint-hearted. Honor was
full-valiant.
We kept a silence Honor could not keep.
Yet this late day we make a song to praise
her.
We, codeless, will yet vindicate her code.
She who was mighty, walks with us, the
beggars.
The merchants drive her out upon the road.
She makes a throne of sod beside our campfire.
We give the maiden-queen our rags and
tears.
A battered, rascal guard have rallied
round her,
To keep her safe until the better years.