I One thing I know all men would buy, And some there be who do; But I like those who turn and sigh For better ones and new; Their ways are never soon forgot Out of my shallow mind, And I like best what I have not, As must all womankind. II Upon this night and every other There will recur against my will The theme of death that seeks to smother Immanent strife, and hold me still Under its nothingness, and under Peace that was long ago resigned. . . . (It is the lips that you may plunder; Never invade the guarded mind.) III Here I lie hurt, who sought no pain, But wanted still your gentleness That was more lovely and more vain Than this impulsive harsh caress. Now nightly I shall break your sleep With words and motions anger-ridden, Calling aloud how you must reap The harvest that you sowed unbidden. |