Do with me, master, as thee seemeth best.
O loose as thought and bodiless as dream!
O globular grand eyes, a bane of maidenhood!
O miracle of tunic-folds, that seem
Self-balanced, firm, a glory of carven wood!
By these, and by the crown thy temples wear,
Holy, a cauline flower of wondrous hair;
By thy red mouth, a bow without a chord,
And shaftless, yea, but deadly, O most fair,
I knew thee, and I know thee for my lord!