The Song of Cartha

Queen, whose perilous bosom bare Was the field of love’s emprise, I would hush my weary sighs In the silence of thy hair.

In my heart thy kisses wrought Raptures of the fabled faun; Seal my lids before the dawn With thy lips, and lift them not.

Queen, whose breasts were mine to keep Through the moon-abandoned night, Languid love and dead delight In thine arms are fain to sleep.