To call their mother. And what could this Mad woman do but run to each, to press Each fading pair of lips against her own? Or more, if not enough, tear at the bark, Break twigs where drops of blood streamed from each wound, And each as she was torn cried, “Mother, save Me, Mother, it is my body that you tear Within the tree, O Mother, now farewell!” As bark closed over lips their tears still ran, Tears that were drops of amber in the sun Fallen from green sides and branches of young trees, To flow in clearest waters of the river And later worn as jewels by Roman brides.
