And then he will be mine, he will lie In my power utterly, Opening his value plain to my eye He will sleep of me. He will lie negligent, resign His all to me, and I Shall watch the dawn light up for me This sleeping wealth of mine. And I shall watch the wan light shine On his sleep that is filled of me, On his brow where the wisps of fond hair twine So truthfully, On his lips where the light breaths come and go Naïve and winsomely, On his limbs that I shall weep to know Lie under my mastery. KISSES IN THE TRAIN I saw the midlands Revolve through her hair; The fields of autumn Stretching bare, And sheep on the pasture Tossed back in a scare. And still as ever The world went round, My mouth on her pulsing Neck was found, And my breast to her beating Breast was bound. But my heart at the centre Of all, in a swound Was still as a pivot, As all the ground On its prowling orbit Shifted round. And still in my nostrils The scent of her flesh, And still my wet mouth Sought her afresh; And still one pulse Through the world did thresh. And the world all whirling Around in joy Like the dance of a dervish Did destroy My sense--and my reason Spun like a toy. But firm at the centre My heart was found; Her own to my perfect Heart-beat bound, Like a magnet's keeper Closing the round. CRUELTY AND LOVE What large, dark hands are those at the window Lifted, grasping the golden light Which weaves its way through the creeper leaves To my heart's delight? Ah, only the leaves! But in the west, In the west I see a redness come Over the evening's burning breast-- --'Tis the wound of love goes home! The woodbine creeps abroad Calling low to her lover: The sun-lit flirt who all the day Has poised above her lips in play And stolen kisses, shallow and gay Of pollen, now has gone away --She woos the moth with her sweet, low word, And when above her his broad wings hover Then her bright breast she will uncover And yield her honey-drop to her lover. Into the yellow, evening glow Saunters a man from the farm below, Leans, and looks in at the low-built shed Where hangs the swallow's marriage bed. The bird lies warm against the wall. She glances quick her startled eyes Towards him, then she turns away Her small head, making warm display Of red upon the throat. His terrors sway Her out of the nest's warm, busy ball, Whose plaintive cry is heard as she flies In one blue stoop from out the sties Into the evening's empty hall. Oh, water-hen, beside the rushes Hide your quaint, unfading blushes, Still your quick tail, and lie as dead, Till the distance folds over his ominous tread.