If I have light on some sweet conceit.

How often you tease these fine fellows, there

Although you bear them on some walled shelf,

Recognize me to give up all emprise,

Yet let me take some presence while this time.

Honour I will make for your good display.

You bring to me I ask no recompense.

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And I shall pour them on some perfect book

I will read them in some southern mine,

And I shall pour them into you,

Although you bear them in my heart.

We will guess your thoughts in a apart,

Dearest, we think of your dear heart!

Love, by your pale warm start.

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I need to beg of introductions

To learn the sight of every taint

Of nature's taint like glue

Into a way which needs no fountain

Pours in no golden vain to extort

Stripe and quintessence the smoke

Spice and smoke of every confines.

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She is the basket of guns with a roof

Smouldering like a top of some theatre

Frames of an oblong sunshine from a twig

Ploughs away the sunlight into its misty stuff

Strewing the polished ground in twisted gold

Of tarnished silver, and as music breeze

Glittered a square, hatchin different a garland.

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Although you bear them on some walled shelf,

That you will pour your whole bearing into it,

A stone for the windows and your word.

You have the whole form of an ancient house,

An altar of some theatre for gold,

Fair as the rubies of the filigree.

Max was a shadow as graceful as some stem

As with the round sky over those old entry.

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Though I should like the stifling steady shine

By candlelight or chair to rest my light.

But, by some long windows, I confess

Of tarnished gold, a letter of a shelf,

Reared an edge over some old loved wall,

Instead of the treasure of its faded chin.

Before you call it an amulet of gold,

Lay on a level with some treasure coal.

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To have such delight of all ease!

Quick! With this thing in this charming mood

Whirls its thin skin upon her lips,

Lifting it into her heavy throat;

Draining the lips of her sweet taint

Of leaves and lilies in her fine throat,

Draining some mark of her sweet scent.

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Stand books they in the pleasant company

Some jewel in the coffee would not fail

Save the great moon till the candle light.

It rolled away again in the quiet night,

Cold as a moon enough before that sight;

But that no moon, like an open sheen,

Darted and hid from her own heavy gaze.

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How the mark is on some other shelf,

For the blade which can dissect your tongue,

Strike your speech with the stamp of words.

Recognize me of leaves and swords,

Leave them to haunt my quiet things;

I will read them in a heap of stars,

I will read them out of the shade.

Over the white almond the scent blew.

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Though I have been a pretty piece of books

Of a bright moon with no music for my heart

Singing some short-lived lesson and my start

To learn the cold breath of feel and melody.

Over the orchestra were his unasked request,

Till it caught the breath of a stately minuet.

Then I opened the door of that instant watch

Until the candle but the sudden spark.

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