NT me," you said, "a poem; give to meA breathing thought that I may keep to kiss!"While that low laugh that aye a mandate
Nestled upon your lips.
Call
To that fair moment when you heard my plea,
And in the tumult of my arms' warm bliss,
Like a frail floweret that is crushed amiss.
You thrilled to frenzied life exultantly,
And all your body pulsed with love's desire!
Can I in words that perfect hour rehearse,
Or write the vehemence of veins on fire?
My lips would only kiss — and you
From my heart's royal hoard one pallid verse —The grey, cold ashes left on passion's pyre!
