I think most of us have been there.Epitaph on a Zulu Queen
Within this glass there lies, Alas!
The body of a queen.
Of princely birth, of priceless worth,
With bands of golden sheen.
Why did she die? Ah, tell me why.
From Afric’s sunny clime,
Through ocean’s roar, to England’s shore,
She travell’d in her prime.
But common bees (no judges these
Of excellence of birth),
Refus’d to take, for Walker’s sake,
Her, at her sov’reign worth.
So did she die, and outstretched lie,
Her royal heart was burst,
Bereft of breath, still fair in death,
His last love, and his first.
R. S. Routh