by Thomas Kent
(Melbourne, Australia)

If you fear that life is hard
My love, a weighty grindstone worn
That cuts the shoulders, and the road
Is rough with stones, so feet are torn;

Consider thou, our life of blood
Our life-in-death, scarlet-pulsed like fire
We come awake when sky is blushed with red
Our days asleep: nights brilliant with desire;

No discomfort do we bear, save pangs of lust
As soft as air, but terrible as storm
Not slaving at a trade, nor scrabbling in dust
But padding secretly in wolfish form;

Our love shall know no end, we’re outside time:
Your beauty shall remain untouched, unmarred
We shall drink deep of draughts more red than wine
Come, nestle in my wings, a wounded bird

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