XXX

Let my lips touch thy lips, and my desire

Contagious fever be, to set a-glow

The blood beneath thy whiter breast than snow —

Wonderful snow, that so can kindle fire!

Abandon to what gods in us conspire

Thy little wisdom, sweetest; for they know.

Is it not something that I love thee so?

Take that from life, ere death thine all require.

But no! Then would a mortal warmth disperse

That beauteous snow to water-drops, which, turned

To marble, had escaped the primal curse.

Be still a goddess, till my heart have burned

Its sacrifice before thee, and my verse

Told this late world the love that I have learned.