Kissing Her Hair I Sat Against Her Feet, Wove And Unwove It, Wound And Found It Sweet; Made Fast Therewith 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?