Must my life taste but once such exquisite delight?
Would you care if my breast were your shelter as then?
And if I were there would you kiss me again?
II.
You kissed me: your arms round my neck were entwined,
As the vine to the oak clings when pressed by the wind;
Your breath, zephyr-like from some lone balmy isle,
Shed a fragrance that heightened the charm of your smile,
And banished all care, as the sun at mid-day
Dispels the dark clouds which obscure his bright way.