Moods

You are angry because I have kissed your lips;

      You are angry for that, are you, maiden mine?

See, yonder the moon in the ocean dips,

      And the spell of the breeze, perfumed with brine,

Is saturating the soul of me,

      And my heart is a-throb with wild delight!

And you are angry?  You would not be,

      Could you, as I, see your charms tonight.

Could you, as I, see your eyes ashine;

      Could you, as I, see your shoulders fair—

Dear, just the short moment your lips to mine,

      Dear, just the light touch your wind-blown hair,

Were worth all the anger that e’er has been,

      From now back, back to the earth’s primal time!

For the maddening touch of your velvet skin,

      And your red, red lips, who would fear to climb?

Would fear to climb?  Not me!  not me!

      I have heart to grasp what my soul deems good!

The spell is not of the wind-tossed sea;

      The spell is not of the wind-stirred wood;

The spell is only of you, of you!

      The sparkling eyes and the lips apart!

The primal instinct to take and do

      What seems worth while to the panting heart.

And that you are angry is joy to me!

      I would not have you a yielding thing!

The storm-flung , angry and wind-blown sea,

      Which lashes the rocks where the storm-flung cling,

Holds more of joy than is in the tide

      That purrs and sings ‘neath an even keel;

And I—I am glad you are angry-eyed,

      That you have a heart that is born to feel.

I will tame you, too, you untamable one,

      Till your lips shall raise for my lips’ caress—

And yet not tame you; your blood shall run

      In a rioting mood that no man shall guess;

For you are as changeable as the sea,

      Now mirror-smooth in it ebb and flow,

Now wild, wind-chased, unleashed and free!

      And I am glad!  I would have you so!

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