The Spike or Victoria College Review 1947
Indefinably alter me,
Slipping unnoticed on the last
Finger of my heart's hand; cameo—
Quiet on my finger, still, as the
Prayer of a gentle nun falls on the
Quiet dust-pattern in chapel-sun.
Cover my eyes with your breathing;
Smile, while the slow swell of a
Cool, gold sunrise, feeling to
Bottom valley, fingers my soul, and
I, in my wonder, will loosen
Inside me under your first lips'
Touch, marvelling slightly.
Curtain my sight with your hair's fall,
Silken, smoother than all amber
Your sun-fine hair. If I can clamber
On the great heights of your cool brow,
And wrap myself in the soft incense
Of your life-warmth, heart-leaping,
Now and forever am I won, conquered
By quiet new tones of hands and breath.