I still can see
How you hastily and abstractedly flung down
To the floor,
Having raked it, arm after arm,
Over your head,
Your lustrous gown ;
And how, before
Its silken susurration had subsided,
We were as close together as it is possible for two people to be.

It was your maid, I think,
Who picked it up in the morning, while we lay
Still abed, exhausted by inexhaustible love ;
I saw her, I saw her through half closed eyes, kneel above it,
And smooth it, with a concerned hand, and a face full of 
	thoughtfulness.
Not that the dress
Was fragile,
Or had suffered harm,
But that you had planned
To walk in it, when you walked ashore ;
And our ship was getting minute by minute, more and more
Close to Tintagel.