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...