Lying asleep between the strokes of night | |
I saw my love lean over my sad bed, | |
Pale as the duskiest lily’s leaf or head, | |
Smooth-skinned and dark, with bare throat made to bite, | |
Too wan for blushing and too warm for white, | |
But perfect-coloured without white or red. | |
And her lips opened amorously, and said – | |
I wist not what, saving one word – Delight. | |
And all her face was honey to my mouth, | |
10 | And all her body pasture to mine eyes; |
The long lithe arms and hotter hands than fire, | |
The quivering flanks, hair smelling of the south, | |
The bright light feet, the splendid supple thighs | |
And glittering eyelids of my soul’s desire. |