If I should take dark rings of hair,
Soft wind them round your forehead,
Would a dark vein stand
And throb to my tender touching?
Eyes of pain have beheld you,
Cornered in dark, walled height;
Now, you gaze back dumbly,
Pained in a dark vein's frenzy;
Lips parted through the half-light,
Pale hair down, glistening.
And it is I who lean back
With half-smile and quiet acceptance,
Receiving your timidity, knowing
Its growth to present dart-kisses.