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1
IN LOVE'S SNARE
to A. H. M.
O bare your throat, Lynnette,—said he—
O bare your bosom so soft, and white,
That my lips are longing to close on tight:
O bare them full for my eyes to see,
For there's never a sight
So fair elsewhere to ravish me!
O bare your bosom so soft, and white,
That my lips are longing to close on tight:
O bare them full for my eyes to see,
For there's never a sight
So fair elsewhere to ravish me!
Great God, thou madest her fair to desire,
As fair as a dream in the fairest sleep
That ever arose, and awoke to weep
The man that it tortured with flakes of fire
Of desire to steep
His soul for a whole hour there and—expire.
As fair as a dream in the fairest sleep
That ever arose, and awoke to weep
The man that it tortured with flakes of fire
Of desire to steep
His soul for a whole hour there and—expire.
And you're here, Lynnette, and I hold you, dear!
Do I dream? Is it vision or truth? Do I kiss
Or dream that I'm kissing like this and this
And this, till the lips are tired with mere
Sheer passion and bliss
Of your beautiful body that's lying here?
Do I dream? Is it vision or truth? Do I kiss
Or dream that I'm kissing like this and this
And this, till the lips are tired with mere
Sheer passion and bliss
Of your beautiful body that's lying here?
Ah! what would they call us, I wonder,—they
Who are living so cold and pure and proud?
The word's too ugly to utter aloud,
So we'll leave it, Lynnette, for them to say.—
Let us crowd and crowd
Into one short hour the most we may.
Who are living so cold and pure and proud?
The word's too ugly to utter aloud,
So we'll leave it, Lynnette, for them to say.—
Let us crowd and crowd
Into one short hour the most we may.
And what does it matter? You're here, and I,
And Love, that's over us both on fire
With the pulse that is all in all of desire.
And what does it matter?—The hour will fly.
Ah! God, and expire!
But here, Lynnette, for the while you lie.
And Love, that's over us both on fire
2
And what does it matter?—The hour will fly.
Ah! God, and expire!
But here, Lynnette, for the while you lie.
1882.
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