Modern Love. Sonnet 23. 'Tis Christmas Weather
'Tis Christmas weather, and a country house Receives us; rooms are full: we can but get An attic-crib. Such lovers will not fret At that, it is half-said. The great carouse Knocks 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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