Song (Untitled #10)

Come to me in any shape! As a victor crown'd with vine, In thy curls the clustering grape, - Or a vanquished slave: 'Tis thy coming that I crave, And thy folding serpent twine, Close and dumb; Ne'er from that would I escape; Come to me in any shape! Only come! Only come, and in my breast Hide thy shame or show thy pride; In my bosom be caressed, Never more to part; Come into my yearning heart; I, the serpent, golden-eyed, Twine round thee; Twine thee with no venomed test; Absence makes the venomed nest; Come to me! Come to me, my lover, come! Violets on the tender stem Die and wither in their bloom, Under dewy grass; Come, my lover, or, alas! I shall die, shall die like them, Frail and lone; Come to me, my lover, come! Let thy bosom be my tomb: Come, my own!