Oh you, not here; my yearning grows for you.
I see you, bare, and I would be with you,
Would take you, dear, with hands that burn to take,
My arms as flames grown hotter for your sake.
I stamp around the room; I grab a book;
I throw it down to ashes at my feet!
It does no good; you’re there, and I do look.
Your arms, your breasts, your eyes, oh, they are sweet!
O dream that isn’t flesh, yet flesh would be,
If I could force with will reality;—
But no! I would not do it if I could!
The real, brave you is rarest fuel so good
That fire’s soul must flicker famished pain
Till in your arms I burn with joy again!
Till in your arms I burn with joy again,
I’ll write a song. The passioned words will be—
O living wonder of the land and sea,
O radiant storm that lashes me with rain,
The words and songs and whisperings of you
Be-cool my spirit, clear my misty sight,
Refresh me so in everything I do,
My distant vistas stand up bold and bright,
And I, exceeding tall, like some new sun
That laughs for all the darkness to be won,
That beams and shines and streams forth into space
With total joy of being fast and free
To capture everything his light can trace,
I open eyes that see and see and see!
But you, you are not here; O flames! O fire!
Again returns this torturing desire!
But yea! I stand; I do not crash or fall!
With my bear hands I could tear down this wall!
Oh you, what is it that you’re doing now?
So calm you are when you are not with me.
O smiling eyes, O living joy I see,
I do declare this is my holy vow:
That I will guard your life in all I do,
Respect your thoughts—the very soul of you,
And give my gift of love that’s born of praise
To flash with passion all your happy days!