'Nature' is what we see— The Hill—the Afternoon— Squirrel—Eclipse—the Bumble bee— Nay—Nature is Heaven— Nature is what we hear— The Bobolink—the Sea— Thunder—the Cricket— Nay—Nature is Harmony— Nature is what we know— Yet have no art to say— So impotent Our Wisdom is To her Simplicity.
"Why do I love" You, Sir? Because— The Wind does not require the Grass To answer—Wherefore when He pass She cannot keep Her place.
Because He knows—and Do not You— And We know not— Enough for Us The Wisdom it be so—
The Lightning—never asked an Eye Wherefore it shut—when He was by— Because He knows it cannot speak— And reasons not contained— —Of Talk— There be—preferred by Daintier Folk—
The Sunrise—Sire—compelleth Me— Because He's Sunrise—and I see— Therefore—Then— I love Thee—
Your hands easy weight, teasing the bees hived in my hair, your smile at the slope of my cheek. On the occasion, you press above me, glowing, spouting readiness, mystery rapes my reason
When you have withdrawn your self and the magic, when only the smell of your love lingers between my breasts, then, only then, can I greedily consume your presence.
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