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!