Last night, ah, yesternight, betwixt her lips and mine <br />There fell thy shadow, Cynara! thy breath was shed <br />Upon my soul between the kisses and the wine; <br />And I was desolate and sick of an old passion, <br /> <br />Yea, I was desolate and bowed my head: <br />I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion. <br />All night upon mine heart I felt her warm heart beat, <br />Night-long within mine arms in love and sleep she lay; <br />Surely the kisses of her bought red mouth were sweet; <br />But I was desolate and sick of an old passion, <br /> <br />When I awoke and found the dawn was gray: <br />I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion. <br />I have forgot much, Cynara! gone with the wind, <br />Flung roses, roses riotously with the throng, <br />Dancing, to put thy pale, lost lilies out of mind; <br />But I was desolate and sick of an old passion, <br /> <br />Yea, all the time, because the dance was long: <br />I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion. <br />I cried for madder music and for stronger wine, <br />But when the feast is finished and the lamps expire, <br />Then falls thy shadow, Cynara! the night is thine; <br />And I am desolate and sick of an old passion, <br /> <br />Yea, hungry for the lips of my desire: <br />I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.<br /><br />Ernest Christopher Dowson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/cynara/
