TO MAURICE 

BELOV’D, WE HAVE SO LITTLE TIME 

TO SAVOUR (SIC) THIS SWEET SUCCULENCE 

OF MOUTH TO MOUTH AND FLESH ON FLESH! 

THERE IS SO LITTLE LEFT OF THE SUNGLOW, 

WEAKER GROWS THE LIFE PULSE, 

AND OUR DELIGHTS, THOUGH INFINITE, ARE 

NUMBERED. 

THEREFORE, I TURN MY BACK ON SEOUL AND 

EGYPT, 

PRESS THIS TINY, SWEET, BROWN HAND IN 

MINE, 

DRINK DEEP OF THE MORNING, 

WHILE OVER THE CANYON WALLS THE 

SHADOWS MUSTER, 

AND THE NEVADA, FIENDS FASHION US A 

STORM, 

TO DROWN THE SUN, AND MAN, AND 

LAUGHTER.