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OVE at the lips was touch As sweet as I could bear; And once that seemed too much; I lived on air

That crossed me from sweet things, The flow of—was it musk From hidden grapevine springs Down hill at dusk?

I had the swirl and ache From sprays of honeysuckle That when they're gathered shake Dew on the knuckle.

I craved strong sweets, but those Seemed strong when I was young; The petal of the rose It was that stung.

Now no joy but lacks salt That is not dashed with pain And weariness and fault; I crave the stain

Of tears, the aftermark Of almost too much love, The sweet of bitter bark And burning clove.