On my bed
I rolled and rioted in frenzied fret,
For turn howe’er I would, upon the walls,
Across the sheets, the beauteous Ada rode,
Scenting the air with black-head clustering hair,
Loading the senses with soft-thrilling sighs;
While through the rosy lips pale pearls of teeth
Flashed hungrily. Strapped to her showy steed,
She bites her charger in the side, till lips
Run red with the brave beast’s blood; and as the sting