English

Touch not her lip!
It hides a sting
Whose poisoned tip
Will madness bring.
I of that sweetness once did taste
And captive still my manhood waste.

" Constance" — 'tis no name for you,
Who in love are never true;
" Constance" — once I sang its praise,
Now it poisons all my days.

Those that love you, them you fly
And to trap new quarry try.
When they're caught in love's domain
Swift you turn and fly again.

Soft are my lady's lips
And soft her rosy breast,
Her snow-white arm
Enfolds me warm
And lulls me soft to rest.

But hard of heart is she,
Love naught but kisses gains;
'Gainst mercy steeled,
She will not yield,
And virgin still remains.

I thirst in sight of bliss
Like Tantalus of yore,
I know full well
The pains of hell
And can endure no more.

You titter and giggle, you beckon again,
You do all to invite me, but all is in vain;
You have jilted me once and I swore by the stone
That henceforth I'd leave you severely alone.
Though you pout your bare lips till they seem naked quite
You may kiss your own mouth; you won't have me to-night.
No, I go my own way. Other girls I shall find
More skilled at caresses, more comely, more kind.

Kate's kisses loud and long resound,
Sue's kisses bite until they wound,
I wonder if they sweeter taste
Than Lucy's kisses soft and chaste.
My lips alone can judges be,
Methinks I'll try them both and see.

But no, I'm wrong. I will not prove
Unfaithful to my faithful love.
None else may match with Lucy's lips
Wherefrom the bee his honey sips.
The prize is hers, my verdict given,
No need to seek a fairer heaven.

In my arms I held her tight,
Saw her eyes with laughter gleam,
Close together in the night:
Though 'twas but a dream.

All her body I caressed
Nor did she reluctant seem,
Each soft limb upon me pressed,
Yielded:—in my dream.

But as every art I tried
Plunging deep in passion's stream,
I by Cupid was denied,
Lost my lovely dream.

Ah, he is a jealous boy:
Lies in ambush, so I deem:
Will not give us perfect joy
Even in a dream.

Why do I draw my trusty blade
As though its edge to prove?
'Tis not in sooth to hurt, dear maid,
Or vex the Queen of Love.

But rather that I may reveal
How Mars her power allows
And though he be of stubborn steel
A slave to Venus bows.

My confidant, in him I see
As in a glass my face,
He knows my thoughts and has for me
All a beloved's grace.

But thou, my sweet, art dearer yet,
No sword our love shall part,
And if thou dost thy troth forget
This blade shall pierce my heart.

All the night long I grieve; and when I fall
In that uneasy sleep that morning brings
I start awakened: faint I hear the call
Of swallows twittering ere the day begins.
Again I feel the smart of tears, again
Rhodanthi's image burns my fevered breast.
I close my weary eyes: 'tis all in vain:
I know no more of rest.

O cruel swallows, cease to vex me still,
I did not rob fair Philomel of song.
Go to the hoopoe's nest upon the hill
And there your plaint for Itylus prolong.
But let me sleep, that I to dream may try

A stripling in my youthful pride
I heeded not the darts of Love,
The power of Venus I denied,
Against her mandates strove.

But now my locks are all but gray,
I feel the sting of mad desire,
I bend my neck beneath Love's sway
And burn with sudden fire.

Take then thy thrall, O Paphian queen,
And laugh elate with smiling eyes;
Pallas again has vanquished been,
The apple is thy prize.

‘I will come to-morrow morn’—
But that morn I never see,
While you laugh my faith to scorn,
Make a mock of me.

Still you feed me on delay
And to others give your smiles,
My true love with insults pay
And deceitful wiles.

‘In the evening I will come’—
Yes, at beauty's eventide—
When your cheeks have lost their bloom
And your youth its pride.