Page:Poems and ballads (IA balladspoems00swinrich).pdf/61

 But as to a bee's gilt thighs and winglets The flower-dust with the flower-smell clings; As a snake's mobile rampant ringlets Leave the sand marked with print of rings;

So to my soul in surer fashion Your savage stamp and savour hangs; The print and perfume of old passion, The wild-beast mark of panther's fangs.