mistress of Death—

what of his kiss?

Ah, strong were his arms to wrest

slight limbs from the beautiful earth,

young hands that plucked the first

buds of the chill narcissus,

soft fingers that broke

and fastened the thorny stalk

with the flower of wild acanthus.

Ah, strong were the arms that took

(ah evil, the heart and graceless,)

but the kiss was less passionate!

[19]

[19]

SIMAETHA

Drenched with purple,

drenched with dye, my wool,

bind you the wheel-spokes—

turn, turn, turn my wheel!

Drenched with purple,

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