If you loved me ever so little,
⁠I could bear the bonds that gall,
I could dream the bonds were brittle;
⁠You do not love me at all.

O beautiful lips, O bosom
⁠More white than the moon’s and warm,
A sterile, a ruinous blossom
⁠Is blown your way in a storm.

As the lost white feverish limbs
⁠Of the Lesbian Sappho, adrift
In foam where the sea-weed swims,
⁠Swam loose for the streams to lift,

My heart swims blind in a sea
⁠That stuns me; swims to and fro,
And gathers to windward and lee
⁠Lamentation, and mourning, and woe.