 | Orchids |  |
24
Ερος δ' αυτε . . .
Crimson nor yellow roses, nor
The savour of the mounting sea
Are worth the perfume I adore
That clings to thee.
The savour of the mounting sea
Are worth the perfume I adore
That clings to thee.
The languid-headed lilies tire,
The changeless waters weary me.
I ache with passionate desire
Of thine and thee.
The changeless waters weary me.
I ache with passionate desire
Of thine and thee.
There are but these things in the world—
Thy mouth of fire,
Thy breasts, thy hands, thy hair upcurled,
And my desire!
Thy mouth of fire,
Thy breasts, thy hands, thy hair upcurled,
And my desire!
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