What have you more than I, who crave you so?
Have I not hands and feet and thoughts to tell?
All my sweet senses and fine dreams that swell
...
I cannot find a fault in you; and yet
I think you are not perfect many ways.
I have seen lips more meet for maiden praise
...
Dearest, your mother feels (though dead) this birth—
Laughs at the fire within your shining eyes—
Your eyes, yet mine, wherein such glory lies
...
I would not curse your England, wise as slow,
Just as unjust in deed.
I can believe that from her heart may flow
...
My mind and heart both love you utterly.
And so each thought of mine is doubly yours,
And all my will about your body pours
...
If there should be a moon above the hill
To-night, dip down with me into the sea
Of our first passion, and, with naked glee,
...
Dearest, there is no part of us, but air
And earth are counterparts. Your fragrant eyes
Touching my own, some essence of the skies
...
Give me a child!! Dear Heart, we have loved long,
Draining each other’s sweetness to the last
Wild drops of honeyed madness falling fast
...
Do not surcharge our souls with that vile blame
To which our bodies are subjected here;
Nor heap them with the horror of dull fear
...
I walked among the flowers that bend their heads
Low to the earth and back again to light,
Hearing them prattle of their blue and white—
...