Iv

Draw your chair to mine And stretch your hands to the hearth', That I may see between your fingers Shine The ancient flame; And look upon the fire Quietly, with your eyes That have no fear of any light, So that for me they be the same, Yet franker when the blaze leaps higher Making them as from deep within you, bright.

Ah, how fair still is our life and fain! When the clock strikes out its notes of gold And I approach you and as a flower hold; And a fever slow and pure, Which we will not to restrain, Leads the kiss, marvellous and sure, From hand to brow, from brow to lips again.

How well I love you, O my clear beloved, Your swooning body, caressing and caressed, In whose depth of joy I almost drown. All is more dear to me, your lips, your arms close-pressed, And your kind bosom whereon my tired head After the rapture you bestow, sinks down Quietly, near your heart to find its rest.

I love you still more after love's sharp pain When your goodness still more sure and motherly Brings repose to passion's ardency, And, when desire has cried aloud its will, I hear approach familiar joy again, With steps that almost silence are, it is so still.