The night is gone, and thus her pleasure ends,
Warm breath, deep sighs and touch of velvet cheeks,
Soft breasts, sweet lips and gentle, slender hands-
Fair eyes, long hair and tender tickling streaks.
Away the thornless rose, so ruby-red,
Away the light of beauty from my eyes,
Away the shape of beauty from my bed,
Away her warmth, her scent, my paradise–
No more caress her pale and velvet skin,
No more caress her silken nightshade hair,
Nor kiss her rosy lips, her cheeks, her chin,
The night is gone, and so is she, my fair.
And yet I'll happily my muses tell
About this night, knowing I spent it well.
(In imitation of John Keats, August 2000)
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