A Triad

Three sang of love together: one with lipsCrimson, with cheeks and bosom in a glow,Flushed to the yellow hair and finger-tips;And one there sang who soft and smooth as snowBloomed like a tinted hyacinth at a show;And one was blue with famine after love,Who like a harpstring snapped rang harsh and lowThe burden of what those were singing of.One shamed herself in love; one temperatelyGrew gross in soulless love, a sluggish wife;One famished died for love. Thus two of threeTook death for love and won him after strife;One droned in sweetness like a fattened bee:All on the threshold, yet all short of life.