Page:Poems and ballads (IA poemsballads00swinrich).pdf/263

 As who unhusks an almond to the white And pastures curiously the purer taste, I bared the gracious limbs and the soft feet, Unswaddled the weak hands, and in mid ash Laid the sweet flesh of either feeble side, More tender for impressure of some touch Than wax to any pen; and lit around Fire, and made crawl the white worm-shapen flame, And leap in little angers spark by spark At head at once and feet; and the faint hair Hissed with rare sprinkles in the closer curl, And like scaled oarage of a keen thin fish In sea-water, so in pure fire his feet Struck out, and the flame bit not in his flesh, But like a kiss it curled his lip, and heat Fluttered his eyelids; so each night I blew The hot ash red to purge him to full god. Ill is it when fear hungers in the soul For painful food, and chokes thereon, being fed; And ill slant eyes interpret the straight sun, But in their scope its white is wried to black: By the queen Metaneira mean I this; For with sick wrath upon her lips, and heart, Narrowing with fear the spleenful passages, She thought to thread this web’s fine ravel out, Nor leave her shuttle split in combing it; Therefore she stole on us, and with hard sight Peered, and stooped close; then with pale open mouth