Alice Louise Jones says:


I bathe in the lush of the moon;
Of her shadows I weave
From my breast to my knees
a whole garment to tantalize Pan!
My mouth has the red of the adder
With sharp teeth that sting
As they close on the mouth of another.
My breasts are like great pointed bubbles
Which the hands of some wood-god have fashioned.
I wait for the beat of Pan’s hoofs
As he leaps pushing great hairy fingers to crumble the shoots
Of the vines and bushes that hide me:
Spring I erect
Tossing glad swaying hands and bright shoulders,
A moment,
And then,
Fleet of foot, with wild laughter
I whirl and am gone.


Blanche Shoemaker Wagstaff says:


” To love you like the midnight storm!

To hear the wild beating of your veins; to feel flame shuddering your blood
and to agonize you with my ardor.

To crush you as a flower upon my breast, To bear you away to some secret valley,
where I would love you into insensibility…. “