Page:Carroll - Phantasmagoria and other poems (1869).djvu/185

Rh "Sweet is the stolen draught," she said;
 * "Hath sweetness stint or measure?

Pleasant the secret hoard of bread;
 * What bars us from our pleasure?"

"Yea, take we pleasure while we may,"
 * I heard myself replying;

In the red sunset, far away,
 * My happier life was dying:

My heart was sad, my voice was gay.

And unawares, I knew not how,
 * I kissed her dainty finger-tips,

I kissed her on the lily brow,
 * I kissed her on the false, false lips—

That burning kiss, I feel it now!

"True love gives true love of the best:
 * Then take," I cried, "my heart to thee!"