The knotted moment that untwists Into the narrow laws of love, Its ends are rolled round our four wrists That once could stretch and rove. See our confined fingers stray O'er delicate fibres that recoil, And blushing hints as cold as clay; Love is tired after toil. But hush! two twin moods meet in air; Two spirits of one gendered thought. Our chained hands loosened everywhere Kindness like death's have caught. |