Poetry Archives

They had a tale on which to gloat,
The gossips sitting in a row:
How Feylimeed took wife by throat
And broke her beauty with a blow.

And one, and then another, said:
Ah, fortunate if now she die;
For piteous is a cloth-bound head
Instead of beauty’s flashing eye.

Else to some desert let her go
From women’s words and eyes of men,
But ancient Eefa whispered low:
“Simply you read the story then.”

No other word old Eefa spoke
But smiling blinked from side to side,
Till Enna, breathless, on them broke
Her mouth and eyes with horror wide.

“He gropes his way, his eyes are out!”
“Who gropes his way?” “Why, Faylimeed!”
“The blind cat’s fingers, without doubt
Got at them sleeping?” “Nay, indeed,

“No fingers but his own plucked, flung
Them dazzling in the sullen tide,
For ah, they say his heart was wrung
To see the wreck of beauty’s pride.”
Then Eefa whispered from her place:
“As Faylimeed gripped wife by throat
Her eyes flashed love into his face
And his heart blazed while his hand smote.”