THE HEART’S UNDESIGN

 

Your breathed enchantments none
Believes or listens to,
None your feigned innocence,
A beauty wreathed with snow.

That unvoiced country lies
Too near to us to lose,
That green and desolate place
No speech nor stillness close.

Its presences remark us,
Your mouth its brambled vine
And your desire, too, wild
With the heart’s undesign.

 

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