Lovers

Why should I ask perfection of thee, sweet, That have so little of mine own to bring? That thou art beautiful from head to feet-- Is that, beloved, such a little thing, That I should ask more of thee, and should fling Thy largesse from me, in a world like this, O generous giver of thy perfect kiss? Thou gavest me thy lips, thine eyes, thine hair; I brought thee worship--was it not thy due? If thou art cruel--still art thou not fair? Roses thou gavest--shalt thou not bring rue? Alas! have I not brought thee sorrow too? How dare I face the future and its drouth, Missing that golden honeycomb thy mouth? Kiss and make up--'tis the wise ancient way; Back to my arms, O bountiful deep breast! No more of words that know not what they say; To kiss is wisdom--folly all the rest. Dear loveliness so mercifully pressed Against my heart--I shake with sudden fear To think--to losing thee I came so near.