Sonnets—Actualities XIV the ivory performing rose of you, worn upon my mind all night, quitting only in the unkind dawn its muscle amorous pricks with minute odour these gross days when i think of you and do not live: and the empty twilight cannot grieve nor the autumns, as i grieve,faint for your face O stay with me slighty. or until with neat obscure obvious hands Time stuff the sincere stomach of each mill of the ingenious gods.(i am punished. They have stolen into recent lands the flower with their enormous fingers unwished