O you are satisfied and glad to taste
My lips like wild strawberries, and to rest
Your head upon the frail tides of my breast
Where beats my heart. But O the winter waste
When I with hold the loveliest from you.
Desire has bound you in a warm embrace. . .
A bond that keeps you from the holy place
I open breathless to a chosen few.
You own but fair externals. . . my white skin;
The way my hair grows like a golden tent
In which to snare your kiss, but I lament
That bread and body are enough to win
Your love. O claim the other half and find
The silver swans that float upon my mind!
EUNICE MILDRED LONCOSKE.
My lips like wild strawberries, and to rest
Your head upon the frail tides of my breast
Where beats my heart. But O the winter waste
When I with hold the loveliest from you.
Desire has bound you in a warm embrace. . .
A bond that keeps you from the holy place
I open breathless to a chosen few.
You own but fair externals. . . my white skin;
The way my hair grows like a golden tent
In which to snare your kiss, but I lament
That bread and body are enough to win
Your love. O claim the other half and find
The silver swans that float upon my mind!
EUNICE MILDRED LONCOSKE.
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