In The Nursery - Anatomy of a Poet

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Last night, ah, yesternight, betwixt her lips and mine
There fell thy shadow, Cynara! thy breath was shed
Upon my soul between the kisses and the wine;
And I was desolate and sick of an old passion
Yea, I was desolate and bowed my head:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion
All night upon mine heart I felt her warm heart beat
Night-long within mine arms in love and asleep she lay;
Surely the kisses of her bought red mouth were sweet;
But I was desolate and sick of an old passion
When I awoke and found the dawn was gray:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion
I have forgot much, Cynara! gone with the wind
Flung roses, roses riotously with the throng
Dancing, to put thy pale, lost lilies out of the mind;
But I was desolate and sick of an old passion
Yea, all the time, because the dance was long:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion
I cried for madder music and for stronger wine
But when the feast is finished and the lamps expire
Then falls thy shadow, Cynara! the night is thine;
And I am desolate and sick of an old passion
Yea hungry for the lips of my desire:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion