Pulling with tremulous touch at his heart-strings ...
Pricking like impotent tiny thorns;
Nipping, and pinching, and pricking
The shrivelled, black conscience of the rosy and beautiful lady.
See! from the shrivelled black conscience
One drop of bright, red blood,
As from prick of a rose thorn ...
And his heart-strings are drawn tight and knotted
With tiny, weak, slipping knots
Tied by feeble, damp fingers ...