Page:Poems and ballads (IA poemsballads00swinrich).pdf/237

 But you sigh seldom, you sleep sound, You find love’s new name good enough. Less sweet I find it than I found The sweetest name that ever love Grew weary of.

My snake with bright bland eyes, my snake Grown tame and glad to be caressed, With lips athirst for mine to slake Their tender fever! who had guessed You loved me best?

I had died for this last year, to know You loved me. Who shall turn on fate? I care not if love come or go Now, though your love seek mine for mate. It is too late.

The dust of many strange desires Lies deep between us; in our eyes Dead smoke of perishable fires Flickers, a fume in air and skies, A steam of sighs.

You loved me and you loved me not; A little, much, and overmuch. Will you forget as I forget? Let all dead things lie dead; none such Are soft to touch.