Page:Poems and ballads (IA poemsballads00swinrich).pdf/320

 Then a cool naked sense beneath my feet Of bud and blossom; and sound of veins that beat As if a lute should play of its own heart And fearfully, not smitten of either part; And all my blood it filled with sharp and sweet As gold swoln grain fills out the huskèd wheat; So I rose naked from the bed, and stood Counting the mobile measure in my blood Some pleasant while, and through each limb there came Swift little pleasures pungent as a flame, Felt in the thrilling flesh and veins as much As the outer curls that feel the comb's first touch Thrill to the roots and shiver as from fire; And blind between my dream and my desire I seemed to stand and held my spirit still Lest this should cease. A child whose fingers spill Honey from cells forgotten of the bee Is less afraid to stir the hive and see Some wasp's bright back inside, than I to feel Some finger-touch disturb the flesh like steel. I prayed thus; Let me catch a secret here So sweet, it sharpens the sweet taste of fear And takes the mouth with edge of wine; I would Have here some colour and smooth shape as good As those in heaven whom the chief garden hides With low grape-blossom veiling their white sides And lesser tendrils that so bind and blind Their eyes and feet, that if one come behind