Page:Poems Rossetti.djvu/56

So when the hundredth year was full
The thread was cut and finished the school.
Death snapped the old worn-out tool,
 Snapped him short while he stood and stirred
(Though stiff he stood as a stiff-necked mule)
  With never a word.

Thus at length the old crab was nipped.
The dead hand slipped, the dead finger dipped
In the broth as the dead man slipped,—
 That same instant, a rosy red
Flushed the steam, and quivered and clipped
  Round the dead old head.

The last ingredient was supplied
(Unless the dead man mistook or lied).
Up started the Prince, he cast aside
 The bellows plied through the tedious trial,
Made sure that his host had died,
  And filled a phial.

"One night's rest," thought the Prince: "This done,
Forth I speed with the rising sun:
With the morrow I rise and run.
 Come what will of wind or of weather.
This draught of life when my bride is won
  We'll drink together."

Thus the dead man stayed in his grave,
Self-chosen, the dead man in his cave;
There he stayed, were he fool or knave,