| The Garden... Robert Graves... |
|
Enhanced in a tower, asleep, dreaming about him, The twin buds of her breasts opening like flowers, Her fingers leafed and wandering... Past the well Blossoms an apple-tree, and a horde of birds Nested in the close thickets of her hair Grmuble in dreamy dissonance, Calling him to the garden, if he dare. |
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