And the third poem inspired by Un coeur en hiver.
bitter blind ecstasy
or just your pretty face
no, no,
it's not just your pretty face
it's just those eyes
who tell a tale of woe
and such sweet restoration
as a thousand deaths' relief
would fain acquire had she the might
of those, it's just those perfect lips
the bud of lusty seasons which words cannot name
and which to spring are as she to the winter of the haunted moon,
and just the neck through which such fire flows as fuels the burning curse that is your tongue
to those who tasted it and will no more, devoured by the twisting passion of their memory,
it's just that back which like a sea of troubles and of strength can calm and rouse and give sweet rest and such violent spasms of frenzied pleasure
and just the soft and tender breast which mildly balms the fear and rage and passion and through calming turns them all in ecstasy to you,
that waist which in proportion and in shape and firm support founds and sustains your power and wrecks all resolve
or any resistant hopes, and that her selfsame other part the thighs that break rebellious strength
to sweet submission and contain the unutterable fire of sweet begetting, the limbs
which in perfection mix their grace and power and softness and induce
such substances as mixed themselves in blood will turn the mind
from any other thought
than you
not just your pretty face
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