A woman's eye went wandering
  Away from her true-wedded lord,
And chanced upon a wanderer,
  One skilled in converse, spell and sword--
She kept her covetousness in check
  Until another was adored.

Her lord knew naught, the wanderer, too,
  Of all the dreams she hid inside--
The Dancer's pace infected her,
  But she refrained, with iron pride,
Until her wanderer fell in love
  And chose a lass to be his bride.

Now, silence was this woman's ward.
  No weeping maiden, shrinking, torn,
She forged her life in godly fire,
  And, finding all her heart forlorn,
She turned upon the innocent
  And lashed the girl with bitter scorn.

What inspired this iron ice
  When friendship's touch was all she sought?
With every civil word reproached,
  And courtesy lain dead and naught,
It takes no oracle to see
  Arachne's favor ready-wrought.

The hatred springing up  uncalled--
  That ice alone, I could ignore,
But when you sowed your salt through fields
  Where other friendships grew before--
He'll never ask you why you bleed
  Nor seek your company, furthermore.

What foolishness, to act this way,
  How petty, in a woman grown!
How useless, taking out your envy
  When there's naught save friendship shown--
If you had only held your malice,
  None, cold woman, would have known....

Well, wax and wane, you jealous moon,
  But I shall emulate the sun--
The clouds may hide us both from view
  As roundabout the world we run,
But you have lost the prize you sought,
  And all's unwrought from hate begun.

Turn back towards your worthy husband,
  Prove you love more than his name--
Prove there's honor somewhere hiding
  Past your greed for wealth and fame--
Go your way, we'll go our own,
  And only four need know your shame.