Beside him, with a kiss: the route rolled on capricious as the sea.
I was his bride: his love, always a god’s,
Saw not my state, nor asked from whence I came;
With him the passion was a living thing and not a naked name.
I was again a wife: my days were spent
In waking dreams of uncontrolled delight;
The light expired in feast and song and dance, unheeded in its flight.
And Night, with Venus sparkling on her brow,
Sat on the mountain top; the nightingale
Breathed an undying hymn to deathless love from every silent vale.