The lot of love is chosen

The lot of love is chosen. I learnt that much

Struggling for an image on the track

Of the whirling Zodiac.

Scarce did he my body touch,

Scarce sank he from the west

Or found a subtetranean rest

On the maternal midnight of my breast

Before I had marked him on his northern way,

And seemed to stand although in bed I lay.

I struggled with the horror of daybreak,

I chose it for my lot! If questioned on

My utmost pleasure with a man

By some new-married bride, I take

That stillness for a theme

Where his heart my heart did seem

And both adrift on the miraculous stream

Where -- wrote a learned astrologer --

The Zodiac is changed into a sphere.