I dreamt: In my forlorn disordered chamber, Long uninhabited polluted nest, There scarcely smouldered on the hearth an ember To welcome back my Master and my Guest. And I beheld the hearth-stone swept and garnished By his own gentle and most kingly hands, Which by the ash and soot remained untarnished, And unburnt by the flaming of the brands. But when I dared to lay my lips upon them I knew the touch had left a sudden stain. Like iron nails, my cruel kisses on them Had stamped the scar of everlasting pain. |