Lirama

Should my treasure come
my darling step by
I''d know him by his coming
recognize him by his step
though he were still a mile off
or two miles away.
As mist I''d go out
as smoke I would reach the yard
as sparks I would speed
as flame I would fly;
I''d bowl along beside him
pout before his face.
I would touch his hand
though a snake were in his palm
I would kiss his mouth
though doom stared him in the face
I''d climb on his neck
though death were on his neck bones
I''d stretch beside him
though his side were all bloody.
And yet my treasure has not
his mouth bloody from a wolf
his hands greasy from a snake
nor his neck in death''s clutches:
his mouth is of melted fat
his lips are as of honey
his hands golden, fair
his neck like a heather stalk.