EXOTIQUEThy mouth is like a crimson orchid-flow’r,Whence perfume and whence poison rise unseenTo moons aswim in iris or in green,Or mix with morning in an eastern bow’r.Thou shouldst have known, in amaranthine isles,The sunsets hued like fire of frankincense,Or the long noons enfraught with redolence,The mingled spicery of purple miles.Thy breasts, where blood and molten marble flow,Thy warm white limbs, thy loins of tropic snow—These, these, by which desire is grown divine,Were made for dreams in mystic palaces,For love, and sleep, and slow voluptuousness,And summer seas a-foam like foaming wine.
Thy mouth is like a crimson orchid-flow’r,Whence perfume and whence poison rise unseenTo moons aswim in iris or in green,Or mix with morning in an eastern bow’r.Thou shouldst have known, in amaranthine isles,The sunsets hued like fire of frankincense,Or the long noons enfraught with redolence,The mingled spicery of purple miles.Thy breasts, where blood and molten marble flow,Thy warm white limbs, thy loins of tropic snow—These, these, by which desire is grown divine,Were made for dreams in mystic palaces,For love, and sleep, and slow voluptuousness,And summer seas a-foam like foaming wine.
Thy mouth is like a crimson orchid-flow’r,Whence perfume and whence poison rise unseenTo moons aswim in iris or in green,Or mix with morning in an eastern bow’r.Thou shouldst have known, in amaranthine isles,The sunsets hued like fire of frankincense,Or the long noons enfraught with redolence,The mingled spicery of purple miles.Thy breasts, where blood and molten marble flow,Thy warm white limbs, thy loins of tropic snow—These, these, by which desire is grown divine,Were made for dreams in mystic palaces,For love, and sleep, and slow voluptuousness,And summer seas a-foam like foaming wine.
Thy mouth is like a crimson orchid-flow’r,Whence perfume and whence poison rise unseenTo moons aswim in iris or in green,Or mix with morning in an eastern bow’r.
Thy mouth is like a crimson orchid-flow’r,
Whence perfume and whence poison rise unseen
To moons aswim in iris or in green,
Or mix with morning in an eastern bow’r.
Thou shouldst have known, in amaranthine isles,The sunsets hued like fire of frankincense,Or the long noons enfraught with redolence,The mingled spicery of purple miles.
Thou shouldst have known, in amaranthine isles,
The sunsets hued like fire of frankincense,
Or the long noons enfraught with redolence,
The mingled spicery of purple miles.
Thy breasts, where blood and molten marble flow,Thy warm white limbs, thy loins of tropic snow—These, these, by which desire is grown divine,
Thy breasts, where blood and molten marble flow,
Thy warm white limbs, thy loins of tropic snow—
These, these, by which desire is grown divine,
Were made for dreams in mystic palaces,For love, and sleep, and slow voluptuousness,And summer seas a-foam like foaming wine.
Were made for dreams in mystic palaces,
For love, and sleep, and slow voluptuousness,
And summer seas a-foam like foaming wine.