Page:Poems and ballads (IA poemsballads00swinrich).pdf/307

 The cold axe clove, and smote away her head: Out of her throat the tender blood full red Fell suddenly through all her long soft hair. And with good speed for hardness of the air Each man departed to his house again. Lo, as fair colour in the face of men At seed-time of their blood, or in such wise As a thing seen increaseth in men's eyes, Caught first far off by sickly fits of sight— So a word said, if one shall hear aright, Abides against the season of its growth. This Theophile went slowly as one doth That is not sure for sickness of his feet; And counting the white stonework of the street, Tears fell out of his eyes for wrath and love, Making him weep more for the shame thereof Than for true pain: so went he half a mile. And women mocked him, saying: Theophile, Lo, she is dead; what shall a woman have That loveth such an one? so Christ me save, I were as lief to love a man new-hung. Surely this man has bitten on his tongue, This makes him sad and writhled in his face. And when they came upon the paven place That was called sometime the place amorous There came a child before Theophilus Bearing a basket, and said suddenly: Fair sir, this is my mistress Dorothy