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Armory
The praying mantis, molting, left this cast, With airy gauntlets still devotional; Such brittle bright encasements often last After a living tenant quits the shell. Thus in the Tower even now the sun Strikes armor molded to a king's contours While yet his trunk and willful head were one- Harness he buckled against Cromwell's boors. That gilded husk of monarchy complete Defines a being neither strong nor tall, Defenseless as his life was indiscreet; Under the panoply, ephemeral. His dying prayer, delivered without qualms (So patiently, his judges were annoyed), Quoted a novel, not a book of psalms- Oh, prayer unpuritanical and void!