In the blue darkness of your hair,

Smouldering on from birth to death,

My love is like the burnish there

That I can kindle with a breath.

Or like the flame in this black wine

Upon whose raven wings we rise

Lighter in spirit than the sighs

With which the purple roses twine:

Like a great star with steady beam

It runs against a darkened stream,

And from its onrush of despairs

Draws all the splendours my blood,

As I have seen the Rhone in flood

Drawn starward by the golden hairs.