ABSTRACT
Theodore Wratislaw. From The Artist, 1 August 1893. Love, I adore the contours of thy shape, Thine exquisite breasts and arms adorable; The wonders of thine heavenly throat compel Such fire of love as even my dreams escape: I love thee as the sea-foam loves the cape, Or as the shore the sea’s enchanting spell: In sweets the blossoms of thy mouth excel The tenderest bloom of peach or purple grape. I love thee, sweet! Kiss me, again, again! Thy kisses soothe me, as tired earth the rain; Between thine arms I find my only bliss; Ah let me in thy bosom still enjoy Oblivion of the past, divinest boy, And the dull ennui of a woman’s kiss!
