Kissing Her Hair

Kissing her hair, I sat against her feet: Wove and unwove it,—wound, and found it sweet: Made fast therewith her hands, drew down her eyes, Deep as deep flowers, and dreamy like dim skies; With her own tresses bound, and found her fair,— Kissing her hair. Sleep were no sweeter than her face to me,— Sleep of cold sea-bloom under the cold sea: What pain could get between my face and hers? What new sweet thing would Love not relish worse? Unless, perhaps, white Death had kissed me there,— Kissing her hair.

Collection: 
English
1857
Algernon Charles Swinburne
Sub Title: 
VI. Lovers

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