Eyes, mine eyes, you are bright
Since my true love's on you shone;
Your beams are the pale moonlight
From the sun of my true love's own.
Lips, my lips, you are sweet,
Still sweet from my true love's kiss,
As you daintily part but to meet
With a touch of that foregone bliss.
His from the glad new light
Of the eyes, to the blithe footfall,—
His and uplift to the height
Of his love, the creator of all;
His from the innermost hold
Of the heart which his love has warmed;
His from the outermost fold
Of the flesh by his love transformed.
Glad as the summer to-day
A woman winsome and fair,—
Take but my love's love away,—
I am gone, to the gold in my hair!
Say that the beauty so made
Shadow of change came a-nigh,—
Say he could see me to fade—
Liefer he left me to die!