Sit near! sit near! I kiss thy lips,
Ripe, richer than the crimson cherry.
Girl, canst thou love me in eclipse?
Tell me, and bid my soul be merry.
My light is dim, my fortune fled;
I've nothing save the love I bear thee.
Give back thy love, or I am dead;—
A word—a look—whilst I can hear thee.
Sit nearer! near! I kiss thine eyes;
There,—where the white lids part asunder.
I love thee—dost thou hear my sighs?
Love thee beyond the world, thou wonder!
My life is spent. I've nothing left
To tender now, save love's soft duty;
Yet, gaze I,—of all else bereft,—
And feed till death upon thy beauty.