Page:Poems and ballads (IA poemsballads00swinrich).pdf/143

 She loved the games men played with death,
 * Where death must win;

As though the slain man's blood and breath
 * Revived Faustine.

Nets caught the pike, pikes tore the net;
 * Lithe limbs and lean

From drained-out pores dripped thick red sweat
 * To soothe Faustine.

She drank the steaming drift and dust
 * Blown off the scene;

Blood could not ease the bitter lust
 * That galled Faustine.

All round the foul fat furrows reeked,
 * Where blood sank in;

The circus splashed and seethed and shrieked
 * All round Faustine.

But these are gone now: years entomb
 * The dust and din;

Yea, even the bath's fierce reek and fume
 * That slew Faustine.

Was life worth living then? and now
 * Is life worth sin?

Where are the imperial years? and how
 * Are you Faustine?