Or Ever The Knightly Years Were Gone With The Old World To The Grave, I Was A King In Babylon And You Were A Christian Slave. I Saw, I Took, I Cast You By, I Bent And Broke Your Pride. You Loved Me Well, Or I Heard Them Lie, But Your Longing Was Denied. Surely I Knew That By And By You Cursed Your Gods And Died. And A Myriad Suns Have Set And Shone Since Then Upon The Grave Decreed By The King In Babylon To Her That Had Been His Slave. The Pride I Trampled Is Now My Scathe, For It Tramples Me Again. The Old Resentment Lasts Like Death, For You Love, Yet You Refrain. I Break My Heart On Your Hard Unfaith, And I Break My Heart In Vain. Yet Not For An Hour Do I Wish Undone The Deed Beyond The Grave, When I Was A King In Babylon And You Were A Virgin Slave.