Take it:

My pen, and be enundated no longer with my pedantic, rambling streams;
My hands, and suffer no too gentle caress any longer;
My tongue, and be seiged with no passionate protests or sharp challenges against safe silence;
My body, and harass yourself no more with fantasy of the sweetness of mine Eden’s fruit;
My lips, and stand dry, free of love raining upon your tensed brow when you want to stand stubbornly in fury at the world; and finally,
My crown, which I submit willfully
In the strength of a chosen sacrifice,
Having given this at last for the aim I hold most dearly –
Take my crown, and be vexed no more by the power of my will and ambition,
Nor shocked by my resilience or intimidated by my womban’s magick;
Take it: I give,
Yet knowing a queen is not bestowed
Royalty by the gems upon her head
But that one in it,
My eyes emerald shimmering
From the fire of an opal mind.