  With this night’s carousal We will close the portal On our poor espousal— Sacrament and housel For a love too mortal! With this gay delaying We’ll delay yet longer— Care not what the saying Of the World—that braying Evil tattle-monger! Pleasure has as thunder Scorched and jangled thru me; Now I’ll sit and wonder At the day-star yonder And your face, grown gloomy. You are known as “Lily” And they mock your gender; Is it but a silly Fancy, you seem stilly Lily-souled and tender? Underneath the bitter Mockery of color, Underneath the titter Is there something fitter? Something finer, fuller? Something (can I hear it In your secret eyes?) When I come too near it Like a frightened spirit Running from the skies? Girl, you know that glow meant Dawn’s thin lips of scarlet— Bubble of life’s foment Stay your soul a moment! . . . . . . Bah! You’re drunk, you harlot! |
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