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I have robbed the garrulous streets, Thieved a fair girl from their blight, I have stolen her for a sacrifice That I shall make to this night.
I have brought her, laughing, To my quietly dreaming garden. For what will be done there I ask no man pardon.
I brush the rouge from her cheeks, Clean the black kohl from the rims Of her eyes; loose her hair; Uncover the glimmering, shy limbs.
I break wild roses, scatter them over her. The thorns between us sting like love's pain. Her flesh, bitter and salt to my tongue, I taste with endless kisses and taste again.
At dawn I leave her Asleep in my wakening garden. (For what was done there I ask no man pardon.)
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