If I could flee the foot-worn path
Into contemplative retreat,
And shield my heart from Cupid's wrath,
My seeming joys would seem complete;
But all I have to flee the pain
Of love for you, yet unrequited,
Is to be numbed by self-disdain
Through revelry, yet not delighted.
For your embrace is more like wine
Than wine itself, and feeling it
Rush through my veins is form divine
Unmatched by any counterfeit.
Then slay each straying thought, and look
Once more at me, and cast a net
Into my heart, where I mistook
So many things before I set
My thoughts on you. And here I'm bound
To reel on dreams of opium,
Until, with you, at last I've found
Endless store of delirium.
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