Page:Love Poems and Others.djvu/41

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THE APPEAL

You, Helen, who see the starsAs mistletoe berries burning in a black tree,You surely, seeing I am a bowl of kisses,Should put your mouth to mine and drink of me.
Helen, you let my kisses steamWasteful into the night’s black nostrils; drinkMe up I pray; oh you who are Night’s Bacchante,How can you from my bowl of kisses shrink!

xxix.

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