Page:Poems and ballads (IA poemsballads00swinrich).pdf/118

 If I could but know after all, I might cease to hunger and ache, Though your heart were ever so small, If it were not a stone or a snake.

You are crueller, you that we love, Than hatred, hunger, or death; You have eyes and breasts like a dove, And you kill men’s hearts with a breath.

As plague in a poisonous city Insults and exults on her dead, So you, when pallid for pity Comes love, and fawns to be fed.

As a tame beast writhes and wheedles, He fawns to be fed with wiles; You carve him a cross of needles, And whet them sharp as your smiles.

He is patient of thorn and whip, He is dumb under axe or dart; You suck with a sleepy red lip The wet red wounds in his heart.

You thrill as his pulses dwindle, You brighten and warm as he bleeds, With insatiable eyes that kindle And insatiable mouth that feeds.