"PAINT me," you said, "a poem; give to me A breathing thought that I may keep to kiss!" While that low laugh that aye a mandate is Nestled upon your lips. Call memory To that fair moment when you heard my plea, And in the tumult of my arms` warm bliss, Like a frail floweret that is crushed amiss. You thrilled to frenzied life exultantly, And all your body pulsed with love`s desire! Can I in words that perfect hour rehearse, Or write the vehemence of veins on fire? My lips would only kiss — and you require From my heart`s royal hoard one pallid verse — The grey, cold ashes left on passion`s pyre!SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
The script ran 0.001 seconds.
