Anatomy of a Poet - In The Nursery

Last night, ah, yesternight, betwixt her lips and mine

There fell thy shadow, Cynara!

thy breath was shed

Upon my soul between the kisses and the wine;

And I was desolate and sick of an old passion

Yea, I was desolate and bowed my head:

I have been faithful to thee, Cynara!

in my fashion

All night upon mine heart I felt her warm heart beat

Night-long within mine arms in love and asleep she lay;

Surely the kisses of her bought red mouth were sweet;

But I was desolate and sick of an old passion

When I awoke and found the dawn was gray:

I have been faithful to thee, Cynara!

in my fashion

I have forgot much, Cynara!

gone with the wind

Flung roses, roses riotously with the throng

Dancing, to put thy pale, lost lilies out of the mind;

But I was desolate and sick of an old passion

Yea, all the time, because the dance was long:

I have been faithful to thee, Cynara!

in my fashion

I cried for madder music and for stronger wine

But when the feast is finished and the lamps expire

Then falls thy shadow, Cynara!

the night is thine;

And I am desolate and sick of an old passion

Yea hungry for the lips of my desire:

I have been faithful to thee, Cynara!

in my fashion