XXI

How shall I hold you? By a scimitar

Of flashing wit suspended o'er your head,

Oh, my Beloved? Or with lips rose-red

Lure you to Lethe? Shall I stand afar,

Pale and remote and distant as a star,

Challenging love? Or by a scarlet thread

Jealousy's wiles, beguile by scorn and dread?

Wounding the heart I love with hateful scar.

Nay, I can take no action, play no play;

All my wit falters when I hear you speak,

All my wise guile with which your wooing strove

Vanishes as the sun of yesterday.

I can but lay my cheek against your cheek —

Love me or leave me, I can only love.