Page:Poems and ballads (IA poemsballads00swinrich).pdf/284

 Whose hair a great wind scattereth, Now hath God turned my lips to sighs, Plucked off mine eyelids from mine eyes, And sealed with seals my way of breath.

I am the queen Arabian. The tears wherewith mine eyelids ran Smelt like my perfumed eyelids' smell. A harsh thirst made my soft mouth hard, That ached with kisses afterward; My brain rang like a beaten bell. As tears on eyes, as fire on wood, Sin fed upon my breath and blood, Sin made my breasts subside and swell.

I am the queen Pasiphae. Not all the pure clean-coloured sea Could cleanse or cool my yearning veins; Nor any root nor herb that grew, Flag-leaves that let green water through, Nor washing of the dews and rains. From shame's pressed core I wrung the sweet Fruit's savour that was death to eat, Whereof no seed but death remains.