- Primula

Felled by loyalty's own hand,
His dying face knew not your stand -
Behold the honour of this house!
The golden maid midst battle's smoke,
By a declaration's final stroke,
You stood before his slayer.

Red those eyes and dark his mace -
Shattered arm and greying face,
Chilling your bone to match your heart,
Chalice tipp'd, crushed lily-bud,
Spilling your gold among the blood,
To lay, a time unseeing.

O trampled flower, sullied gold -
Your strength was of the House of old,
The death you sought was not your own.
Pale the steel that held not back -
Sable smoke and spirit black
Rise upward.