Whym Chow: Flame of Love | ||
35
XVIII. IN EXTREMIS.
When thou wert lying dead, Chow, I was at the polesOf passion where its world most sharply, swiftly rolls,
In midst of ice, of icebergs riftless and of snow.
I spoke to thee with voice that panted fast and slow
Against the force I breathed of that extremest cold,
While at my heart quick love round its own being rolled.
Whym Chow: Flame of Love | ||