What nectar, o what neck,
To be kissed and to be pecked
Where aromas lay a gentle trail
For your lips to glide or dwell!
And on your way along the curve,
Her downy ornament, a shock of hair,
Waves you further in—to the final
Verge and sill—by the scented air!
Are we in an orchard now or has
A wag of some enchanting wand
Changed the hour to an instant May
With a floral anadem of shimmer
on her bending head as she imbues
Her whole in the lights of bloom?
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