The Secret Splendour

I want you—ere my body break in two

With the sharp cry of passion's heat unslaked:

I want you—come before my heart has quaked

And lust strays far from fruitless love of you.

For you I stretch my soul's arms vainly so,

To call and capture that proud dazzling breast

 Within my body's arms when through the west

Blind hungers seem to suck the sun below.

You kill my love by being over-chaste:

You drive my love to bite its own dry tongue

 Whereon these words lie writhing: I have clung

Unto the rainbow-thread of hope: make haste

Lest it should snap and throw me to the bed

Of some more easy rapture stript by gold.

What joy!—were you that harlot, suddenly bold

Now that in heaven's womb star-seed is shed!

Paint thick your virgin cheeks red evermore—

 Lend those pure lips to every vulgar mouth

 That even I may wet on them my drouth

And not lie panting at your white love's door!

Be spoiled and low, be gilded, worn and cheap,

 Be the world's woman with whom all may wive,

 But strain my love not—lightlessly alive,

Make it not wanton while you calmly sleep

And by that sleep my sacred vow entomb:

Let me be constant though your troth you break:

 Be you base traffic that I still may wake

A faithful lover to your wasted womb!

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