Modern Love XXIII: 'Tis Christmas Weather
'Tis Christmas weather, and a country houseReceives us: rooms are full: we can but getAn attic-crib. Such lovers will not fretAt that, it is half-said. The great carouseKnocks hard upon the midnight's hollow door,But when I knock at hers, I see the pit.Why did I come here in that dullard fit?I enter, and lie couched upon the floor.Passing, I caught the coverlet's quick beat:--Come, Shame, burn to my soul! and Pride, and Pain--Foul demons that have tortured me, enchain!Out in the freezing darkness the lambs bleat.The small bird stiffens in the low starlight.I know not how, but shuddering as I slept,I dreamed a banished angel to me crept:My feet were nourished on her breasts all night.
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