And me insatiate of only you.
5
A moment hold that pose for my applause:
My heart’s an artist; it would paint its fill.
Let you the model be the test of skill
Whether or not your eye or mine’s the cause.
No need this moment for artistic laws;
Lost in the poem is the prosaic will—,
My art is lost in you. And do you kill
The picture moving so?—A moment pause.