Why should all curves
On stone speak art,
While those on limbs
Are joined with lust?
Words! now dance,
And sing to my tunes
The rhythms that ripple
Through beauties I gaze,
For these must glean
Their pulsating flow
In forms that thrill
With harmony of will -
Ecstasy, in still.
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Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
Bold lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the goal - yet, do not grieve;
She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair! .....
More happy love! more happy, happy love!
For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd,
For ever panting, and for ever young;
All breathing human passion far above,
That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd,
A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.
The girl passes across my brow
Ancient, ancient feeling!
What use to me, I ask,
are paper, verse, ink?
To me your flesh is
red lily, cool reed.
Dark girl of the full moon.
What do you want of my desire?
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