I’d go mad dreaming of the lips of you,
Counting the kisses that you gave to me
In midnights dark as old Teng’s dynasty!
XX
You said—O! how the words did surge my soul
And to far finger tips send blood to spin—
That always ere the bold day does begin
You think of me; your thoughts my thoughts control
Ere day does of its noisy strife unroll;
Far, far across the sweet, unreal, mist-thin