You spilled into my cups

            With such sleight of hand

            Those fingers –

            How many times have they kissed? –

            Their fine unspooling and regathering,

            My dear sweet loom

            How the long veil flutters from the 

            Breath of your admirers

            In the crowded hall, and glows

            With trespasses and glory

            By the changing light of their fire

            No fools were they who chose

            To kneel at your hearth and

            Sacrifice the pitiless call of the ocean

            Nor you who drew me back 

            To drink again and dash myself

            Upon the spell of your

            Uncertain eye