| “For let Philosopher and Doctor preach |
| Of what they will and what they will not,—each |
| Is but one link in an eternal chain |
| That none can slip nor break nor over-reach.” |
| |
| “Crimson nor yellow roses nor |
| The savour of the mounting sea |
| Are worth the perfume I adore |
| That clings to thee.” |
| |
| “The languid-headed lilies tire, |
| The changeless waters weary me; |
| I ache with passionate desire |
| Of thine and thee.” |
| |
| “There are but these things in the world— |
| Thy mouth of fire, |
| Thy breasts, thy hands, thy hair upcurled |
| And my desire.” |
