Page:An epic of women and other poems (IA epicofwomenother00osha).pdf/153

 I think that. Let me kiss your forehead once, Twice, thrice, and say it is diviner white, And hallowed with a brighter radiant grace Than Cleopatra's was, and swear therewith I kiss it with a passion greater far Than Antony's was: yea, let me write there This thing in kisses that none can efface. "Ah, you believe me now, dear love?" she says: Yes: I say yes. (Sing on! 'Twas you sang: yes; You bade me answer so. I trust you most.)

"Dear Love, let us go lie upon that bed. I should delight to know it just the grave, So I might keep this faith and happiness, That yours—this mine—both safe for evermore, So I might lie down sure that no mischance, No doubt, no calumny, could come to change Me—yours, you—mine, and peace for evermore."

She says this, and she leads me by the hand.

Her head is like a lily drooping down.

—My passion! Yea I will not baulk thee now: