The breathing life of thee, and swoons, and sighs,
And dies!
None but the dead can know the worth of love!
Come, love, thy bosom to my heart recalls
Strange festivals and subtle funerals.
Soft passion rises in the amber walls,
And falls!
None but the dead can breathe the life of love!
Come, love, thy lips, curved hollow as the moon’s!
Bring me thy kisses, for the seawind tunes,