Page:Love Poems and Others.djvu/19

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Of his hand against my bosom, and oh, the broadBlade of his hand that raises my face to applaudHis coming: he raises up my face to himAnd caresses my mouth with his fingers, which still smell grimOf the rabbit’s fur! God, I am caught in a snare!I know not what fine wire is round my throat,I only know I let him finger thereMy pulse of life, letting him nose like a stoatWho sniffs with joy before he drinks the blood:And down his mouth comes to my mouth, and downHis dark bright eyes descend like a fiery hoodUpon my mind: his mouth meets mine, and a floodOf sweet fire sweeps across me, so I drownWithin him, die, and find death good.

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