What’s the best thing in the world? June-rose, by May-dew impearled; Sweet south-wind, that means no rain; Truth, not cruel to a friend; Pleasure, not in haste to end; Beauty, not self-decked and curled Till its pride is over-plain; Love, when, so, you’re loved again.
What’s the best thing in the world? –Something out of it, I think.
In most intimate touch we meet,
Lip to lip, Breast to breast,
Suddenly we draw apart
Like strangers surprised at a road’s turning
We see, I, the naked you;
You, the naked me.
There was something of neither of us
That covered the hours,
And we have only touched each other’s bodies
Through veils of flowers.
But let us smile kindly,
Like those already dead,
On the warm flesh
And the marriage bed.