Desire Like This

So long had he withheld his hands,

She found him slow to learn:

The way a breast, a thigh, can yield;

The way snow can burn.

You thought me once a goddess, boy,

And so I am, she said;

Desire like this is not of earth:

More, and we both were dead.

Oh, no, he cried; but even then,

Like one brand ablaze,

They broke and fell, and each went out

As stars extinguish days.