A Lady to a Lover

If the sun low down in the West, my friend,
Filled earth with fiery wine.
If a hand were on my breast, my friend,
And lips were laid on mine.
And we together
In summer weather
Lay in a leafy dell.
Could the weariness,
Or the long distress.
Or any fiends from hell,
Wipe out that hour of rest, my fi-iend.
And the rapture all divine ?
Then if thy blade were buried deep
Within this heart of mine,
From the warm whiteness fierce would leap
My fiery blood like wine;
Earth all about the West, my firiend,
After orgies of rich wine,
Wan lying in the sun's decline.
And I in arms of thine, my friend.
In dying arms of thine !