I send my heart up to thee， all my heart

    In this my singing.

    For the stars help me， and the sea bears part；

    The very night is clinging

    Closer to Venice streets to leave one space

    Above me， whence thy face

    May light my joyous heart to thee its dwelling-place

    She speaks

    Say after me， and try to say

    My very words， as if each word

    Came from you of your own accord

    In your own voice， in your own way：

    "This woman's heart and soul and brain

    Are mine as much as this gold chain

    She bids me wear； which" （say again）

    "I choose to make by cherishing

    A precious thing， or choose to fling

    Over the boat-side， ring by ring."

    And yet once more say…… no word more！

    Since words are only words. Give o'er！

    The moth's kiss， first！

    Kiss me as if you made believe

    You were not sure， this eve，

    How my face， your flower， had pursed

    Its petals up； so， here and there

    You brush it， till I grow aware

    Who wants me， and wide ope I burst.

    The bee's kiss， now！

    Kiss me as if you entered gay

    My heart at some noonday，

    A bud that dares not disallow

    The claim， so all is rendered up，

    And passively its shattered cup

    Over your head to sleep I bow.

    He speaks， musing

    Lie back； could thought of mine improve you？

    From this shoulder let there spring

    A wing； from this， another wing；

    Wings， not legs and feet， shall move you！

    Snow-white must they spring， to blend

    With your flesh， but I intend

    They shall deepen to the end，

    Broader， into burning gold，

    Till both wings crescent-wise enfold

    Your perfect self， from 'neath your feet

    To o'er your head， where， lo， they meet

    As if a million sword-blades hurled

    Defiance from you to the world！

    Rescue me thou， the only real！

    And scare away this mad ideal

    That came， nor motions to depart！

    Thanks！ Now， stay as thou art！