Laid, for Love’s sake, in folds of fragrant perse,
The while her face, more fair than sunflowers,
She gave mine eyes for pasture most entire.
Sicklike she seem’d, as with wan-carven smiles
Some deal she moved anear, and thereunto
Thrice paler wox, and weaker than blown sand
Upon the passioning ocean’s beached miles;
And as her motion’s music nearer drew
My starved lips play’d the vampyre with her hand.
John Todhunter.