With what dull drugs do I conspire to still
My heart that cries for you incessantly:
Drowned in the clacking keys' monotony,
Stabbed by a pen, crushed in the ruthless mill
Of sleep and eat and work and eat, until
I seem almost to have the mastery
Of my fierce want, and you become to me
An image lost like sun behind a hill.
One note of music's delicate suspense,
A lilac cloud ending my avenue,
A child's brown hand, a lover's voice, a verse,
Wrecks suddenly my slowly wrought defense,
And once again I face my dearest curse,
The priceless agony of wanting you.
