Page:Poems by Isaac Rosenberg (1922).djvu/165



To sweeten a swift minute so With such rare fragrance of sweet speech, And make the after hours go In a blank yearning each on each; To drain the springs till they be dry, And then in anguish thirst for drink; So but to glimpse her robe thirst I, And my soul hungers and I sink.

There is no word that we have said Whereby the lips and heart are fire; No look the linked glances read That held the springs of deep desire. And yet the sounds her glad lips gave Are on my soul vibrating still; Her eyes that swept me as a wave Shine my soul's worship to fulfil.

Her hair, her eyes, her throat and chin— Sweet hair, sweet eyes, sweet throat, so sweet,