He loosed the kerchief round his neck,
And stooped down to the moorland beck
To quench his drouth;
But, ere his lips could touch the cool
And crystal waters of the pool,
Her burning mouth
Up through the crystal waters rose
To meet his parching lips, and close
In a fierce kiss of flame
That seared his lips, and caught his breath:
And, looking in her eyes of death,
He gasped her name;
And, starting back, headlong he fled
Once more from the pursuing dead.