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8
LA FLEUR DU JARDIN D'ICI BAS
To George Ellwanger
O dour of women faintly wrought
In folds of silken bodices
That hide the fain and supple throat!
In folds of silken bodices
That hide the fain and supple throat!
Nor musk nor heliotrope it is,
Nor scent of violet-powder caught
Within the soft skin's crevices.
Nor scent of violet-powder caught
Within the soft skin's crevices.
O perfume headier than wine
When in my circling arms you lie!
How perfect with restraint laid by
And womanhood grown infantine!
When in my circling arms you lie!
How perfect with restraint laid by
And womanhood grown infantine!
O perfume magic and divine
That sways my swooning senses when
My chin rests on your breast, and then
Your lips creep slowly down to mine!
That sways my swooning senses when
My chin rests on your breast, and then
Your lips creep slowly down to mine!
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