Her lips began to scorch

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Her lips began to scorch, / That juice was wormwood to her tongue,
She loath'd the feast: /Writhing as one possess'd she leap'd and sung,
Rent all her robe, and wrung / Her hands in lamentable haste,
And beat her breast. / Her locks stream'd like the torch
Borne by a racer at full speed, / Or like the mane of horses in their flight,
Or like an eagle when she stems the light / Straight toward the sun,
Or like a caged thing freed, / Or like a flying flag when armies run.
vvvvvvvv

Swift fire spread through her veins, knock'd at her heart,
Met the fire smouldering there/ And overbore its lesser flame;
She gorged on bitterness without a name:/ Ah! fool, to choose such part
Of soul-consuming care!/ Sense fail'd in the mortal strife:
Like the watch-tower of a town/ Which an earthquake shatters down,
Like a lightning-stricken mast,/ Like a wind-uprooted tree
Spun about,/ Like a foam-topp'd waterspout
Cast down headlong in the sea,/ She fell at last;
Pleasure past and anguish past,/ Is it death or is it life?
vvvvvvvv

Life out of death./ That night long Lizzie watch'd by her,
Counted her pulse's flagging stir,/ Felt for her breath,
Held water to her lips, and cool'd her face/ With tears and fanning leaves:
But when the first birds chirp'd about their eaves,

And early reapers plodded to the place/ Of golden sheaves,
And dew-wet grass/ Bow'd in the morning winds so brisk to pass,
And new buds with new day/ Open'd of cup-like lilies on the stream,
Laura awoke as from a dream,/ Laugh'd in the innocent old way,
Hugg'd Lizzie but not twice or thrice;/ Her gleaming locks show'd not one thread of grey,
Her breath was sweet as May/ And light danced in her eyes.
vvvvvvvv

Days, weeks, months, years/ Afterwards, when both were wives
With children of their own;/ Their mother-hearts beset with fears,
Their lives bound up in tender lives;/ Laura would call the little ones
And tell them of her early prime,/ Those pleasant days long gone
Of not-returning time:/ Would talk about the haunted glen,
The wicked, quaint fruit-merchant men,/ Their fruits like honey to the throat
But poison in the blood;/ (Men sell not such in any town):
Would tell them how her sister stood/ In deadly peril to do her good,
And win the fiery antidote:/ Then joining hands to little hands
Would bid them cling together,/ "For there is no friend like a sister
In calm or stormy weather;/ To cheer one on the tedious way,
To fetch one if one goes astray,/ To lift one if one totters down,
To strengthen whilst one stands.

zzz

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