The garden of desire

by Edna Worthley Underwood

The storm’s kiss first!—when black the day suns grow

And winds nor height, depth, hell nor heaven know—

Yes, yes, the storm’s kiss first! Thus—thus—kiss me!

Unchain the whirlwinds of your wild desire

And blind me, blind me, with the lightning’s fire!

VII

But when I’m worn and weary and would rest,

And in my ears the storm sounds vaguely far,

The lightnings fireless as that far night star,

Then fold me in your arms, upon your breast.