Do not love me yet, for I Am still a slender moon, A scimitar about the heart Too sharp to touch too soon. Before I'm touched I need to grow More full in golden light; I need to smile upon my earth And rule some patch of night.
I need to know what roads and fields Lie in my domain And dull my brand new ecstasies With sophomoric pain.
I need the love of some blank boy As cold and dark as me, That we might grope in ignorance And fear of what might be.
And then when I'm a silver bowl And know what I can hold, Then, then, perhaps, we could try love If you are not too old.
