As they sink for everlasting in the darkness and the dew.
Your heart is as a moonstone hieroglyphed with secret letters;
You have never read my passion, as I never learnt their sign,
But I praise your haunting beauty and I bear the bruise of fetters
And I reel from your remembrance as I spill the ancient wine.
All those women I have envied with their pink and foolish faces,
Moths that have out-distanced me in circling round your head,
For the strangeness of your kisses and the curse of your embraces
And the frenzy of pursuing where your despot feet have led.
I will shout, and tear the darkness; I will snuff the candles sacred