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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