"So surely is she mine," you say, and turn
Your quick and steady mind to harder things
To bills and bonds and talk of what men earn
And whistle up the stair, of evenings
And do you see a dream behind my eyes
Or ask a simple question twice of me
"Thus women are," you say; for men are wise
And tolerant, in their security

How shall I count the midnights I have known
When calm you turn to me, nor feel me start
To find my easy lips upon your own
And know my breast beneath your rhythmic heart
Your god defer the day I tell you this
My lad, my lad, it is not you I kiss!