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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=510697" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Azrael's Count</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Lo! The Wild Cow of the Desert, her yeanling estrayed from her --<br>Lost in the wind-plaited sand-dunes -- athirst in the maze of them.<br>Hot-foot she follows those foot-prints -- the thrice-tangled ways of them.<br>Her soul is shut save to one thing -- the love-quest consuming her<br>Fearless she lows past the camp, our fires affright her not.<br>Ranges she close to the to the tethered ones -- the mares by the lances held. <br>Noses she softly apart the veil in the women's tent.<br>Next -- withdrawn under moonlight, a shadow afar off --<br>Fades. Ere men cry, &quot;Hold her fast! darkness recovers her.<br>She the all-crazed and forlorn, when the dogs threaten her,<br>Only a side-tossed horn, as though a fly troubled her,<br>Shows she hath heard, till a lance in the heart of her quivereth.<br>-- Lo, from that carcass aheap -- where speeds the soul of it?<br>Where is the tryst it must keep? Who is her pandar? Death!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Men I dismiss to the Mercy greet me not willingly;<br>Crying, &quot;When seekest Thou me first? Are not my kin unslain?<br>Shrinking aside from the Sword-edge, blinking the glare of it,<br>Shrinking the chin in the neck-bone. How shall that profit them? <br>Yet, among women a thousand, few meet me otherwise.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet, among women a thousand, one comes to me mistress-wise.<br>Arms open, breasts open, mouth open -- hot is her need on her.<br>Crying, &quot;Ho, Servant, aquit me, the bound by Love's promises! <br>Haste Thou! He Waits! I would go! Handle me lustily!<br>Lo! her eyes stare past my wings, as things unbeheld by her.<br>Lo! her lips summoning part. I am not whom she calls!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Lo! My sword sinks and returns. At no time she heedeth it,<br>More than the dust of a journey, her garments brushed clear of it.<br>Lo! Ere the blood-gush has ceased, forward her soul rushes.<br>She is away to her tryst. Who is her pandar? Death!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Rudyard+Kipling">Rudyard Kipling</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=510697" data-title="Azrael's Count de Rudyard Kipling" data-description="Lo! The Wild Cow of the Desert, her yeanling estrayed from her --
Lost in the wind-plaited sand-dunes -- athirst in the maze of them.
Hot-foot she follows those foot-prints -- the thrice-tangled ways of them.
Her soul is shut save to one thing -- ..."></div>
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