At your throat ... six drops of fire they are....

Will you look where the moon and its following star

Rise silvery over yon meadow ricks?

[Pg 15]

While I hold—while I lean your head back, so—

For I know it is "yes" though you whisper "no,"

And my kisses, sweet, are six.

6

 Moths flutter around them. She speaks:

Look!—where the fiery

Glow-worm in briery

Banks of the moon-mellowed bowers

Sparkles—how hazily

Pinioned and arily

Delicate, warily,

Drowsily, lazily,

Flutter the moths to the flowers.

White as the dreamiest

Bud of the creamiest

Rose in the garden that dozes,

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