Sunday at Hampstead.
81
Pout down your lips from that bewildering smile,
And kiss me for the interruption, Sweet!
I had escaped you: floating for awhile
In that far cloud ablaze with living heat:
I floated with it through the solemn skies,
I melted with it up the Crystal Sea
Into the Heaven of Heavens; and shut my eyes
To feel eternal rest enfolding me.
Well, I prefer one tyrannous girl down here,
You jealous violet-eyed Bewitcher, you!
To being lord in Mohammed's seventh sphere
Of meekest houris threescore ten and two!
III.
Was it thousands of miles away,
That two poor creatures we know, my Love,
Were toiling day by day;
Were toiling weary, weary,
With many myriads more,
In a City dark and dreary
On a sullen river's shore?
