I See Your Red-Gold Hair And Know How White The Hidden Skin Must Be, Though Sun-Kissed Face And Fingers Show The Fervour Of The Noon-Day Glow, The Keenness Of The Sea. My Longing Fancies Ebb And Flow, Still Circling Constant Unto This; My Great Desire (Ah, Whisper Low) To Plant On Thy Forbidden Snow The Rosebud Of A Kiss. The Scarlet Flower Would Spread And Grow, Your Whiteness Change And Flush, Be Still, My Reckless Heart, Beat Slow, 'T Is But A Dream That Stirs Thee So!) To One Transparent Blush.