Oh, if I were taken to that handsome breast
and ravished by him for whom I seem to die,
if I could live with him for all of my
short days, free of the envy of the rest;
if, clinging to me, he'd say, "We are blessed,
dear Love; let's be contented just to lie
with each other, showing flood and stormy sky
that nothing in life can divide our close caress";
if I could tighten my arms on him, and cling
as the ivy holds a tree with its circling,
then death could envy my ease, and come destroy;
and if then he gave me another thirsty kiss
till my spirit flew away through his sweet lips,
I would die rather than live, and with more joy.