Yea, with thy sweet lips, with thy sweet sword; yea, Take life and all, for I will die, I say;

Love, I gave love, is life a better boon?

For sweet night's sake I will not live till day;
Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.

Nay, I will sleep then only; nay, but go.
Ah sweet, too sweet to me, my sweet, I know

Love, sleep, and death go to the sweet same tune; Hold my hair fast, and kiss me through it so.

Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.

A MATCH.

If love were what the rose is,
And I were like the leaf,
Our lives would grow together
In sad or singing weather,
Blown fields or flowerful closes,
Green pleasure or grey grief;

If love were what the rose is,
And I were like the leaf.

If I were what the words are,

And love were like the tune, With double sound and single Delight our lips would mingle, With kisses glad as birds are

That get sweet rain at noon; If I were what the words are And love were like the tune.

If you were life, my darling,

And I your love were death, We'd shine and snow together Ere March made sweet the weather

With daffodil and starling
And hours of fruitful breath;
If you were life, my darling,
And I your love were death.

If you were thrall to sorrow,
And I were page to joy,
We'd play for lives and seasons
With loving looks and treasons
And tears of night and morrow
And laughs of maid and boy;

If you were April's lady,

And I were lord in May,

We'd throw with leaves for hours And draw for days with flowers, Till day like night were shady

And night were bright like day;

If you were April's lady,

And I were lord in May.

If you were queen of pleasure,
And I were king of pain,
We'd hunt down love together,

Pluck out his flying-feather,

And teach his feet a measure,

And find his mouth a rein; If you were queen of pleasure, And I were king of pain.

FAUSTINE.

Ave Faustina Imperatrix, morituri te salutant.

LEAN back, and get some minutes' peace;

Let your head lean

Back to the shoulder with its fleece

Of locks, Faustine.

The shapely silver shoulder stoops,

Weighed over clean

With state of splendid hair that droops

Each side, Faustine.

Let me go over your good gifts

That crown you queen;

A queen whose kingdom ebbs and shifts

Each week, Faustine.

Bright heavy brows well gathered up:

White gloss and sheen;

Carved lips that make my lips a cup
To drink, Faustine,