O LOVE, love, would I were thy taper slim,
Waxen and white, with a tall flower-like flame,
Thy breath should make to tremble when I came
To light thee to thy fragrant chamber, dim
With lonely shadows ; where thy hand should trim
My fire so pale, that for thee, gentle dame,
Consumes my life and wastes my mortal frame
With burning anguish, till in fire I swim.
Then would I gaze my fill, O lily fair,
Upon thy fairness and thy matchless grace,
And through the mist-wreath of thy cloudy hair
My rays should make a halo round thy face.
Then would a coolness pass between thy lips,
And all my longing vanish in eclipse.
Marshal Oliver.