The threefold terror of love； a fallen flare¹

    Through the hollow of an ear；

    Wings beating about the room；

    The terror of all terrors that I bore

    The Heavens in my womb.

    Had I not found content among the shows

    Every common woman knows，

    Chimney corner， garden walk，

    Or rocky cistern² where we tread the clothes

    And gather all the talk？

    What is this flesh I purchased with my pains，

    This fallen star my milk sustains，

    This love that makes my heart‘s blood stop

    Or strikes a sudden chill into my bones

    And bids my hair stand up？

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