Kissing her hair I sat against her feet
Wove and unwove it, wound and found it sweet;
Made fast therewith her hands, drew down her eyes
Deep as deep flowers and dreamy like dim skies;
With her own tresses bound and found her fair
Kissing her hair

Sleep were no sweeter than her face to me
Sleep of cold sea-bloom under the cold sea;
What pain could get between my face and hers?
What new sweet thing would love not relish worse?
Unless, perhaps, white death had kissed me there
Kissing her hair?