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“King Ninus, I,” I cried; snared in a kiss
You named yourself my dark Semiramis.
“Queen Guinevere,” I sang; you, “Lancelot.”
My heart grew big with pride to think you’d not
Cried “Arthur,” whom his lovely queen forgot
In loving him whose name you called me by. . . .
We two grew mad with loving then, and I
With whirlpool rapture strained you to my breast;
“First love! First love!” I urged, and “Adam!” blessed
My urgency. My lips grew soft with “Eve,”
And round with ardor purposing to leave
Upon your mouth a lasting seal of bliss. . . .
But midway of our kissing came a hiss
Above us in the apple tree; a sweet
Red apple rolled between us at our feet,
And looking up we saw with glide and dip,
Cold supple coils among the branches slip.
“Eve! Eve!” I cried, “Beware!” Too late. You bit
Half of the fruit away. . . . The rest of it
I took, assuring you with misty eyes,
“Fare each as each, we lose no Paradise.”
You named yourself my dark Semiramis.
“Queen Guinevere,” I sang; you, “Lancelot.”
My heart grew big with pride to think you’d not
Cried “Arthur,” whom his lovely queen forgot
In loving him whose name you called me by. . . .
We two grew mad with loving then, and I
With whirlpool rapture strained you to my breast;
“First love! First love!” I urged, and “Adam!” blessed
My urgency. My lips grew soft with “Eve,”
And round with ardor purposing to leave
Upon your mouth a lasting seal of bliss. . . .
But midway of our kissing came a hiss
Above us in the apple tree; a sweet
Red apple rolled between us at our feet,
And looking up we saw with glide and dip,
Cold supple coils among the branches slip.
“Eve! Eve!” I cried, “Beware!” Too late. You bit
Half of the fruit away. . . . The rest of it
I took, assuring you with misty eyes,
“Fare each as each, we lose no Paradise.”
19
