I grow so weary, someway, of all things
That love and loving have 
vouchsafed to me,
Since now all dreamed-of sweets of ecstasy
Am I 
possessed of: The caress that clings-
The lips that mix with mine with 
murmurings
No language may interpret, and the free,
Unfettered brood of 
kisses, hungrily
Feasting in swarms on honeyed blossomings
Of passion's 
fullest flower-For yet I miss
The essence that alone makes love 
divine-
The subtle flavoring no tang of this 
Weak wine of melody may here 
define:-
A something found and lost in the first kiss
A lover ever poured 
through lips of mine.