Seven dog-days we let pass <br />Naming Queens in Glenmacnass, <br />All the rare and royal names <br />Wormy sheepskin yet retains, <br />Etain, Helen, Maeve, and Fand, <br />Golden Deirdre's tender hand, <br />Bert, the big-foot, sung by Villon, <br />Cassandra, Ronsard found in Lyon. <br />Queens of Sheba, Meath and Connaught, <br />Coifed with crown, or gaudy bonnet, <br />Queens whose finger once did stir men, <br />Queens were eaten of fleas and vermin, <br />Queens men drew like Monna Lisa, <br />Or slew with drugs in Rome and Pisa, <br />We named Lucrezia Crivelli, <br />And Titian's lady with amber belly, <br />Queens acquainted in learned sin, <br />Jane of Jewry's slender shin: <br />Queens who cut the bogs of Glanna, <br />Judith of Scripture, and Gloriana, <br />Queens who wasted the East by proxy, <br />Or drove the ass-cart, a tinker's doxy, <br />Yet these are rotten - I ask their pardon - <br />And we've the sun on rock and garden, <br />These are rotten, so you're the Queen <br />Of all the living, or have been.<br /><br />John Millington Synge<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/queens-4/
