“For let Philosopher and Doctor preach Of what they will and what they will not⁠—each Is but one link in an eternal chain That none can slip nor break nor overreach.”

“Crimson nor yellow roses nor The savour of the mounting sea Are worth the perfume I adore That clings to thee. The languid-headed lilies tire, The changeless waters weary me; I ache with passionate desire Of thine and thee. There are but these things in the world⁠— Thy mouth of fire, Thy breasts, thy hands, thy hair upcurled And my desire.”