When love spills white on her cloudy breast,
And stormy brows blow clear of steamy Os,
And aching Ahs breeze to their windy rest,
I, new-calm, quiet to calm’s no-moan.
The placid window opens to a sky
Where I float alone, unclouded now,
And listen to my lying mistress, fly-
Ing in her far Afghanistan, unfollow-
Ed by harrying lust, the insistent prick-
Ling that turns moist “Maybe” to “Hurry, yes!”
O how we seeded love’s tempest to light-
Ning desire!–which lies beside, a deflated gust.
So we lie apart who had shared one heart
And, pant for pant, had each played the stormfront’s part.