Modern Love XXIII: Tis Christmas Weather

 'Tis Christmas weather, and a country house 
Receives us: rooms are full: we can but get 
An attic-crib.
 Such lovers will not fret 
At that, it is half-said.
 The great carouse 
Knocks hard upon the midnight's hollow door, 
But when I knock at hers, I see the pit.
 
Why did I come here in that dullard fit? 
I enter, and lie couched upon the floor.
 
Passing, I caught the coverlet's quick beat:-- 
Come, Shame, burn to my soul! and Pride, and Pain-- 
Foul demons that have tortured me, enchain! 
Out in the freezing darkness the lambs bleat.
 
The small bird stiffens in the low starlight.
 
I know not how, but shuddering as I slept, 
I dreamed a banished angel to me crept: 
My feet were nourished on her breasts all night.

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