An Invocation

Give me your kisses: save me from her tears!
It is the weary sound of them one hears,
Sleeping and waking, an eternal rain,
That will not ever know itself in vain.
Her virtues leave me homeless in the cold,
I shiver on the hearthstone, and grow old,
While afar off young Life goes rioting
(As I would) down the sunny slopes of Spring.
But I must listen to her tears, her prayers,
The daily items of her daily cares:
She is a model woman, and my wife,
You, who can save me, give me back my life!
Come to me with your lips of rosy fire,
My bright delight, and my whole soul's desire;
Come to me with your tingling hair aflame,
And save me from this sandy of shame.
Give me your kisses; for her lips are white:
They chill me; but your lips are my delight.
The subtlety of love is in them, curled
Voluptuously to embrace the world.
Are not your eyes watch-fires, and are they not
Beacons of wreckage over seas forgot,
Seas that are safety to me, whose white foam
Lures me and leads me, perilously, home?
Give me your kisses; she is weeping now,
The model woman of the marriage-vow,
Whose lips are Sterile to me, and can say
No more than some Starved speech of "yea" and "nay":
She is a model woman, and my wife.
I die of her; but you, O you are life!
Enfold me with your ardency of flame,
And be annihilation, in love's name.