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.