Preludes, 1

Oh, ye whose hearts on happy things are set,
Ye lovers who love well and have no fear,
Come ye no farther, do not enter here;
This is the land where Love and Death are met, —
A land ye may not easily forget,
Once having entered. When your eyes see clear,
Oh, lover, into hers, and lips draw near,
And kisses multiply, and lids shine wet,

'T were ill if visions of this land should rise
Between you, overshadowing your bliss;
Live on and love, nor think each time ye kiss
This kiss may be the last, — for all joy dies!
Think not on death, lest so love's peace ye miss,
Wasting your breath in unavailing sighs.