Through the dancing poppies stole A breeze, most softly lulling to my soul.
Dancing music, music sad, Both together, sane and mad.
Sudden a thought came like a full-blown rose, Flushing his brow.
When it is moving on luxurious wings, The soul is lost in pleasant smotherings.
You are always new. The last of your kisses was even the sweetest; the last smile the brightest; the last movement the gracefullest.
Talking of Pleasure, this moment I was writing with one hand, and with the other holding to my Mouth a Nectarine - how good how fine. It went down all pulpy, slushy, oozy, all its delicious embonpoint melted down my throat like a large, beatified Strawberry.