She went on talking like a running stream, <br />Without more reason or more pause or stay <br />Than to gather breath and then pursue her whim <br />Just where it led her, tender, sad, or gay. <br />Her moods seemed all alike to her. But soon <br />With a little shudder, for the wind was chill <br />And we had lingered on there in the moon, <br />She bade me follow, and I bowed my will. <br />The torrent of her words had drowned in me <br />What humour of resistance there had been, <br />And the last sense of danger ceased to be <br />In the first joy of yielding to such sin. <br />There is no pleasure in the world so sweet <br />As, being wise, to fall at folly's feet.<br /><br />Wilfrid Scawen Blunt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/esther-a-sonnet-sequence-xl/
