Far dearer thou, my gentle one, to me,
And happy I—distracted more by thee—
When yielding to long prayers with gentle grace,
You press me softly in your meek embrace;
Modestly cold, to love with passion fraught
You scarce respond; you conscience seem of naught;
Yet warm and warmer glowing, till at last,
As ’twere against your will, you share my blast.
⁂
Let me not lose my senses, God;