|
|
If it were but a fond caress Without desire for faithfulness If it were but a kissed embrace No search for truth upon his face And hunger hid, not in my heart Like dried up tinder, a flame to start Then i would run to him in haste Not seeing or caring, his soul unchaste His heart not my goal, my life, my symbol And yet to hear him... my senses tremble A willing victim to his schemes For he is the mystery of my dreams |