LE MIGNON

Let them speak ill of me. I do not care

Why shouldst thou care that fairer art than I?

My lips so oft have rested on thy hair,

So oft on thy lips, and so oft

On thy white arms that yet pretend to lie

On my dreams cushions like a vague thing soft...

Let them speak. Life is sweet if thy lips mean

Life. Love is sweet if thou art love.

The scorners cannot know what kisses screen

Our throbbing heart from heart nor prove

That full possession our mad love can scene

With perverse actions like an empire's end

That sinks among the galleys and doth blend

Its sunset with the landscape's emerald green.

Let them speak. Put thy hand within my hand

And let us love as maid and boy are said

To love. But we are none and love is red

On our hot souls thrill and understand.

Oh, to thy bed!

Oh to thy bed, fairer than maidens' couches

And curtained over with strange care for strangeness,

Let's to thy bed and kiss naked while touches

Selected from our hotter dreams transcend

Lust with thought lust acted upon our frames.

The magic misery of our wedded names

Shall light the future with impassioned strangeness.

Antinous!