The Song of Cartha
Queen, whose perilous bosom bare
Was the field of love’s emprise,
I would hush my weary sighs
In the silence of thy hair.
In my heart thy kisses wrought
Raptures of the fabled faun;
Seal my lids before the dawn
With thy lips, and lift them not.
Queen, whose breasts were mine to keep
Through the moon-abandoned night,
Languid love and dead delight
In thine arms are fain to sleep.