Fragoletta

O love! what shall be said of thee?     The son of grief begot by joy?     Being sightless, wilt thou see?     Being sexless, wilt thou be     Maiden or boy?     I dreamed of strange lips yesterday     And cheeks wherein the ambiguous blood     Was like a roses, yea,     A roses when it lay     Within the bud.     What fields have bred thee, or what groves     Concealed thee, O mysterious flower,     O double rose of Loves,     With leaves that lure the doves     From bud to bower?     I dare not kiss it, lest my lip     Press harder than an indrawn breath,     And all the sweet life slip     Forth, and the sweet leaves drip,     Bloodlike, in death.     O sole desire of my delight!     O sole delight of my desire!     Mine eyelids and eyesight     Feed on thee day and night     Like lips of fire.     Lean back thy throat of carven pearl,     Let thy mouth murmur like the doves;     Say, Venus hath no girl,     No front of female curl,     Among her Loves.     Thy sweet low bosom, thy close hair,     Thy strait soft flanks and slenderer feet,     Thy virginal strange air,     Are these not over fair     For Love to greet?     How should he greet thee? what new name,     Fit to move all mens hearts, could move     Thee, deaf to love or shame,     Loves sister, by the same     Mother as Love?     Ah sweet, the maidens mouth is cold,     Her breast-blossoms are simply red,     Her hair mere brown or gold,     Fold over simple fold     Binding her head.     Thy mouth is made of fire and wine,     Thy barren bosom takes my kiss     And turns my soul to thine     And turns thy lip to mine,     And mine it is.     Thou hast a serpent in thine hair,     In all the curls that close and cling;     And ah, thy breast-flower!     Ah love, thy mouth too fair     To kiss and sting!     Cleave to me, love me, kiss mine eyes,     Satiate thy lips with loving me;     Nay, for thou shalt not rise;     Lie still as Love that dies     For love of thee.     Mine arms are close about thine head,     My lips are fervent on thy face,     And where my kiss hath fed     Thy flower-like blood leaps red     To the kissed place.     O bitterness of things too sweet!     O broken singing of the dove!     Loves wings are over fleet,     And like the panthers feet     The feet of Love.