XLII
He said when ready for the ball I stood—
Mi esposo—“These gems will you not wear?”
Down bending then to fasten pearl tears where
You’ve set the rubies of Love’s solitude.
And I said, laughing strangely, wild of mood—
“I’d like a corsage gem of grapes to wear
Upon my breast, my arms, my throat, my hair—
Black, bursting grapes, the fiercest suns have wooed!”
And all night while the music rose and fell
I felt your black curls touch me, loved them well,
Felt float across my face spice scents from south,
Felt on my lips the hot breath of your mouth,
Vineyards I saw, gold-dusted grapes in stack—
Your black, black curls flung passionately back.