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?