Gloom falls apace, and silence spreads afar,
Give me thy hands, how slim and cool they are.
Lives there such love on any other star
That shines to-night?
Ah, wait awhile, as yet I only care
To lie to leeward and drink in the air
That passes over thee and through thy hair
Bringing delight.
Withdraw thy lips from mine, Insatiate!
Ah, give me time Beloved—thou willst not wait?
Then,—as thou willst, how shall I strive with fate
This night of nights?
Star of the Desert, make me thine indeed,
Though thou shouldst slay me now, I should not heed.
Of future days and nights I have no need
After this night.
My lips live only when they cling to thine
Part them a little as they close on mine,
So I may crush the grape and drink the wine
Of my delight.
If thou hast hurt me? Ah, how should I know?
If this be pain, then always pain me so!
Nay, do not stir, I cannot let thee go
This night of nights!
114
