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Posted on 2008.06.12 at 19:01

From the Masque



Your anger charms me,
and yet all the time
I think of chaste, slight hands,
veined snow;
snow craters filled
with first wild-flowerlets;
glow of ice-gentian,
whitest violet:
snow craters
and the ice ridge
spilling light;
dawn and the lover
chaste dawn leaves bereft-
I think of these
and snow-cooled Phrygian wine.

Your anger charms me subtly
and I know
that you would take
the still hands
where I'd rest;
you would despoil
for very joy of theft;
list, lady,
I would give you one last hint:
quench your red mouth
in some cold forest lake,
cover your russet locks
with arum leaf,
quench out the colour,
still the fevered glance,
cover your want
your fire insatiate,
I can not match your fervour,
nay nor still my ache
with any
but white hands inviolate.

by: H.D.
from: Heliodora 1924.

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