And changed my clay to ardent fire and air.
"My love! my witch! whose kiss, like some wild wine,
Has subtly filled me with a flame divine,
An aspiration, whose fierce pulses urge
In all my veins, with rosy surge on surge,
To hurl me in that heaven, all which is mine,
Thine arms! from which I never would emerge."
His ecstasy the very foliage shook;
The wood seemed hushed to hear, and hushed the brook;