AN ODE IN MINIATURE
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I lie upon my couch by night, And dream, and dream— Until the quavering shadow-light Her portraiture doth seem— Until the breeze's moaning saith In limpid-lapping stream, The same denial she answereth. I lie upon my couch by night, And yearn, and yearn— Until the flickering breeze's flight Bring kisses that would burn— Until my soul could moan with pain— Oh, wherefore should she spurn My love again, and yet again? I toss upon my couch by night; I yearn; I yearn— Until I see the glimmering light Upon the east return— Until with passion-pulsing breath, I pray my lady stern: "Oh, let me win thee, sweetest Death—" December 27, 1912. |