"I am tired, Beloved, of chafing my heart against the want of you; of squeezing it into little inkdrops, And posting it."
"Can you see through the night, woman, that you stare so upon it? Man, what sparks do your eyes follow in the smouldering darkness?"
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Source: Amy Lowell (1955). “Complete poetical works: With an introd. by Louis Untermeyer”
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