Page:Clouds without Water (Crowley, 1909).djvu/49

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VI

Sweet. O my sweet, if all the heavenly portion
Of nectar were in one blue ocean poured
Their fine quintessence were a vile abortion
Bitter and flat, foul, stagnant and abhorred
Should one compare it with the tiniest tithe
Of one soft glance your eyes on me might shed,
One gesture of your body limber and lithe,
One smile—the sudden white, the abiding red!
Then—should one slander you in idiot verse
By speaking of the subtle seven-fold sweetness
Your lips can answer me, all fate to amerce
In one mad kiss in all its mad completeness?
O Gods and Muses! give me grace for this
To match my wine for sweet with Lola's kiss.

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