And still you paint, and still I stand White and erect, the classic pose, And still, a soft-winged bee, your hand Moves comrade of a glance that flows Over my body like love's tide: And still the pale noon-shadows glide. And still I hear each sound that falls, The wood that starts in the sun's heat, The mouse astir among the walls, While down the summer-smitten street A cart rolls lonely on: the hush Tightens: I hear the flickering brush. So with sweet pain for hour on hour I to your dark and roving eyes Abandon more than Love had power To offer, in Love's mysteries: You see me with the deeper sight, Veiled in faint air and gemmed with light. So shall the gaze of the soul-deep lover Guide where the sunray darts and swims Down from the shoulders: still discover The rose and iris of these limbs, Low flames that haunt the curve and fold And in dark hollow tresses, gold. |