Page:The Soul of a Century.djvu/66

  And before my passion’s cup I fully drain, In your heaving bosom hid I would remain, Weave around my neck your lustrous waving tresses, Cool my boiling blood in love’s sweet caresses.

Like a desert steed my passion paws its impatient feet, Would your breath destroy me with its scorching heat, And your arms embrace, my limply yielding form, Till I would feebly totter like an oak tree in a storm.

I tried to write to you that in your eye My heart bloomed forth into a rose again, That deep within me, where emotions lie A nightingale sings love’s most tender strain. That many tales are whispered in its den, And many buds breathe in its flowered glen; Into a garden my heart changed at your call; But all I write, I love you above all.