LOVERS

Why should I ask perfection of thee, sweet,

That have so little of mine own to bring?

That thou art beautiful from head to feet —

Is that, beloved, such a little thing,

That I should ask more of thee, and should fling

Thy largesse from me, in a world like this,

O generous giver of thy perfect kiss?

Thou gavest me thy lips, thine eyes, thine hair;

I brought thee worship — was it not thy due?

If thou art cruel — still art thou not fair?

Roses thou gavest — shalt thou not bring rue?

Alas! have I not brought thee sorrow too?

How dare I face the future and its drouth,

Missing that golden honeycomb thy mouth?

Kiss and make up —‘ tis the wise ancient way;

Back to my arms, O bountiful deep breast!

No more of words that know not what they say;

To kiss is wisdom — folly all the rest.

Dear loveliness so mercifully pressed

Against my heart — I shake with sudden fear

To think — to losing thee I came so near.