But is it so that I must never kiss Thee on the brow, or smooth thy silken hair? Never close down thine eyelids with Love’s prayer, Or fold my arms about my new-found bliss?
Must I unto the courses of my age Worship afar, lest haply I profane The temple that is now my holy fane, For which my song is given as a gage?
Shall I who cry to all, “Come not within The bounds where I my lady have enshrined; I am her cavalier”; shall I not win
One dear caress, the rich exchequer find Of thy soft cheek? If thou command, my lips Shall find surcease but at thy fingertips.