XI.
THE VOW.
1
For a kiss of that blood-rich mouth,
Whence low music is faintly flowing,
I pine—and not in vain;
For the passion within me growing,
As from odorous flowers the south,
Breathes incense from my brain.
2
And a song even now is gushing
From my soul, o'er the human world,
That may not basely die!
Like the bud of the rose, unfurl'd,
Lady! why is thy fair cheek blushing?
Sweet lady! tell me why.
3
By the youth in thy life-blood fleet!
By the love that should fill thy heart!
I'll kiss thee ere the moon
Shall to-night from the stars depart;
And thy dream shall be strange as sweet
Ere they in daylight swoon!
