Love At The Lips Was Touch As Sweet As I Could Bear; And Once That Seemed Too Much; I Lived On Air That Crossed Me From Sweet Things, The Flow Of Was It Musk From Hidden Grapevine Springs Downhill At Dusk? I Had The Swirl And Ache From Sprays Of Honeysuckle That When They're Gathered Shake Dew On The Knuckle. I Craved Strong Sweets, But Those Seemed Strong When I Was Young; The Petal Of The Rose It Was That Stung. Now No Joy But Lacks Salt, That Is Not Dashed With Pain And Weariness And Fault; I Crave The Stain Of Tears, The Aftermark Of Almost Too Much Love, The Sweet Of Bitter Bark And Burning Clove. When Stiff And Sore And Scarred I Take Away My Hand From Leaning On It Hard In Grass And Sand, The Hurt Is Not Enough: I Long For Weight And Strength To Feel The Earth As Rough To All My Length.