DEAR goddess of the shining shrine Where all my votive tapers burn, Where every gold-embroidered thought And all my flowers of life are brought -- With many, alas! that are not mine -- What will you give me in return? The bow in Bond Street -- in the Park The smile all worship on your lips, The courteous word at dinner -- dance -- But never a blush -- a conscious glance; At most, at Henley, in the dark, Your fleet mistaken finger-tips? Ah, just for once, once only, be An altar-server -- stoop and set me Upon the altar richly wrought Of your most secret flower-sweet thought: One nightlight's flicker burn for me Before you sleep and quite forget me. |