Page:Poems and ballads (IA poemsballads00swinrich).pdf/240

 O lips that mine have grown into Like April’s kissing May, O fervent eyelids letting through Those eyes the greenest of things blue, The bluest of things grey,

If you were I and I were you, How could I love you, say? How could the roseleaf love the rue, The day love nightfall and her dew, Though night may love the day?

You loved it may be more than I; We know not; love is hard to seize, And all things are not good to try; And lifelong loves the worst of these For us, Félise.

Ah, take the season and have done, Love well the hour and let it go: Two souls may sleep and wake up one, Or dream they wake and find it so, And then—you know.

Kiss me once hard as though a flame Lay on my lips and made them fire; The same lips now, and not the same; What breath shall fill and re-inspire A dead desire?