Passion

O PALE my lady, where shall we ride?
Into the forest dark and wide,
Into the roaring deep sea-tide.
You and I only, side by side ?

Your eyes, like stars in a well's clear gloom,
May be sinister orbs imposing doom,
Gates of life, or doors of the tomb,
Yet mellower than moonlit foam
Your burning beauty warms the room.

Cling to me, ding to me, lady mine,
Your lips are more than the red red wine,
Your flower white glows in the rosy shine.
We quaff to-day from a draught divine,
And still I pine, I pine, I pine !

O pale my lady, and were you death,
Kissing away the soul's own breath,
I would follow, for all cold Reason saith.
Even where Ruin raveneth !