Kissing her hair, I sat against her feet:
Wove and unwove it,- wound, and found it sweet;
Made fast there with 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.
~
Algernon Charles Swinburne
~
~
Here is your romantic one Nory love!