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THE FUGITIVE
Do not bend your neck and turn away your face, but offer up a kiss to me, which has been like some perfume long closed in a bud.
Do not smother this moment under vain words, but let our hearts quake in a rush of silence sweeping all thoughts to the shoreless delight.
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You have made me great with your love, though I am but one among the many, drifting in the common tide, rocking in the fluctuant favour of the world.
You have given me a seat where poets of all time bring their tribute, and lovers with deathless names greet one another across the ages.
Men hastily pass me in the market,—never noting how my body has grown precious with your caress, how I carry
