Drink to me only with thine eyes
And mine will give the lie
No tears I'd shed if worst befell
And parted thou and I.
The thirst that from the soul doth rise
Doth twist thy heart awry
For if thou fall'st within this love
Thy soul wilt surely die.
I sent thee late a rosy wreath,
Not meant for thy love's sake
Of roses black and vines of ash
No mind as a gift would take
But thy belief burned stronger still
And grew thy own heart's ache
Now though I curse thy dream-blinded eyes
Thou still wilt not awake.
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