The Honor and the Vain

I do not love thee, dear, so much;
because I love Honor more.
Never leaving my side as such,
there is nothing more I adore.
The wounded Vanity knows
when its pride has been hurt;
no matter the disguises it shows,
driven away with only its shirt.
Pride held fast its banner to the last,
just to unfurl it onto another field.
Driven from one just as quick and as fast;
only from Reality, it must take its yield.
Vanity could not take Honor away-
through subterfuge or submission,
Disambiguation dreamt away the day,
still seeking Honor's permission.
I do not love thee, dear, so much,
because I love Honor more.
No longer to bear your clutch,
For the meek, I say what for?