It seemed a cup that brimmed hot leaves,
That held all fires, all fruits;
I put the red tree to my lips
And drained it to the roots.
* * *
Beneath the smouldering trees I walk at night.
I know they burn! although they give no light.
* * *
I plucked a flame from off a tree,
Not thinking it would injure me;
It scorched my hand, it caught my hair,
It burned my heart to ashes there;
I played with fire in the wood—
No woman should, no woman should!
* * *
All day it rains—but on the hill
The dripping embers warm me still!
* * *
Hush—