Madrigal Of Memory

To my remote abandonment Your deep and lustrous hair has lent How many an autumn-colored dream; Your eyes bring many an April gleam To this my place of uncontent. Like torchy fires your footsteps leap Where covens of lost dreamers keep Their sabbat and their bacchanal; Your breasts are moons that mount and fall Through the dim, turbulent climes of sleep. Among the rondured hills that merge Into the prone horizon-verge, My haunted eyes have seen, have felt, Your mobile hips at twilight melt, Your supple bosom lift and surge. In dryad ways not understood You stir and whisper through the wood. Far off the throbbing waters flow Against a sanguine afterglow Like the sweet pulses of your blood. At morning, from the cloudy south, Your tresses sweep athwart my drouth. Night bears amid its magic bower Your body's many-scented flower And bud and blossom of your mouth.