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If poetry comes not so naturally as leaves to a tree it had better not come at all. - Keats

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     THE GIRL FROM SPOLETO

Slender are you as a candle. Your eyes are
Swords that pierce mine. No, my sweet, you mistake:
I do not long for a tryst and its wonders -
Just let me burn like a monk at the stake!

Your love? Oh, no!- I don't seek it. Nor dare I
Offer unwanted caresses. Apart
From you I stand like a painter and watch you -
Watch you, and love you with all of my heart!

Goaded by wind, burnt by sun - ah, Maria,
Ever in flight, something not to be gained...
Let me but see the winged cherub above you,
Let me but taste of love's exquisite pain!

Into your dark, silken tresses the brilliants
Of secret verses in silence I twine;
Into your eyes, pools of luminous darkness,
Greedily cast this enslaved heart of mine!

1909