Love at the lips was touch  
As sweet as I could bear;  
And once that seemed too much;  
I lived on air  

That crossed me from sweet things,  
The flow of - was it musk  
From hidden grapevine springs  
Down hill at dusk?  

I had the swirl and ache  
From sprays of honeysuckle  
That when they're gathered shake  
Dew on the knuckle. 

Now no joy but lacks salt  
That is not dashed with pain  
And weariness and fault;  
I crave the stain  

Of tears, the aftermark  
Of almost too much love,  
The sweet of bitter bark  
And burning clove.  

When stiff and sore and scarred  
I take away my hand  
From leaning on it hard  
in grass and sand,  

The hurt is not enough:  
I long for weight and strength  
To feel the earth as rough  
To all my length. 
 

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