This gentle call is for you, my love, for you.
Be with me,
Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!
May-be it is yourself now really ushering me to the true songs
And madness risen from hell;
I will heartily lay me a-hold on the greatness of
terror and shrinking and dreary unnameable pain
Fallen cold and dead.
Drink and be whole again beyond confusion,
I am defenseless utterly.
Shadows hold their breath;
I was under a roof here, I was at rest,
And then the windows failed, and then
I there before thee,
And every doubt long by time blown away.
Let me twine with you caresses,
Against the red throb of
a million veins,
Rise, clasp My hand, and come!
And round that early-laurelled head
And the soft accents of your tongue
Is my gloom, after all,
smooth and moist in vernal heat.
I crave the stain
Of almost too much love,
full of passionate intensity.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
In one another's arms,
Caught in that sensual music all neglect...
But when the feast is finished and the lamps expire,
You fade -
And why did you go so soon?
I slept, methinks, and woke,
I cried for madder music and for stronger wine,
But how shall I
fondest, blindest, weakest,
glitter and find thee.
In grass that's wet from heavy rain -
There fell thy shadow,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Repeating: all the time Imagination
Which only makes you eloquent
is fluent in even the wintriest bronze.
We whisper together
At the hour when we are
starred and crossed
And close our eyes, still smiling, on the dance.