I know the woman has no soul, I know <br />The woman has no possibilities <br />Of soul or mind or heart, but merely is <br />The masterpiece of flesh: well, be it so. <br />It is her flesh that I adore; I go <br />Thirsting afresh to drain her empty kiss. <br />I know she cannot love: it is not this <br />My vanquished heart implores in overthrow. <br />Tyrannously I crave, I crave alone, <br />Her splendid body, Earth's most eloquent <br />Music, divinest human harmony; <br />Her body now a silent instrument, <br />That 'neath my touch shall wake and make for me <br />The strains I have but dreamed of, never known.<br /><br />Arthur Symons<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/idealism-5/
