"I cry your mercy-pity-love! -aye, love!"

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I cry your mercy—pity—love!—aye, love!
 Merciful love that tantalizes not,
One-thoughted, never-wandering, guileless love,
 Unmasked, and being seen—without a blot!
O! let me have thee whole,—all—all—be mine!
 That shape, that fairness, that sweet minor zest
Of love, your kiss,—those hands, those eyes divine,
 That warm, white, lucent, million-pleasured breast,
Yourself—your soul—in pity give me all,
 Withhold no atom’s atom or I die
Or living on perhaps, your wretched thrall,
 Forget, in the mist of idle misery,
Life’s purposes,—the palate of my mind
 Losing its gust, and my ambition blind!

© John Keats