Marah :: :: University of Virginia Library

All I had to give, I gave her. First my kisses, then my tears.
But the little one would have them not. “What use are they?” she said.
Sad, I went away, and dwelt among the tombs, where days are years,
With the Witch that gathers herbs there, and her children who are dead.

2

They and I became companions; and their dusty shrouds were wet
With my flowing tears, and warm beneath my kiss their white lips burn'd,

Till the Witch, whose graveyard-gatherings rare miracles beget,
Wrought my kisses into rubies, and my tears to pearls she turn'd.

3

But she drain'd into each ruby's heart from mine a drop of blood,
And a purity my spirit lost with every pearl that fell.
Then she laugh'd, “Good pearls thy tears are now, thy kisses rubies good,
And the proper use of precious stones thy little one knows well.”

4

So I took my pearls and rubies to the little one I love,
She that loves me not. And, when her pretty eyes beheld them, wild

Beat her little heart with eagerness its pride in them to prove,
And she kiss'd and kiss'd me, weeping tears of pleasure like a child.

5

Still she wears them, still she shows them to her lovers with delight.
And her little heart would break, I think, if one of them were lost;
For the sweetest of its pleasures is the envy they excite,
And 'tis spoilt by no suspicion of the price that they have cost.