  IF love were what the rose is, And I were like the leaf, Our lives would grow together In sad or singing weather, Blown fields or flowerful closes, Green pleasure or grey grief; If love were what the rose is, And I were like the leaf. If I were what the words are, And love were like the tune, With double sound and single Delight our lips would mingle, With kisses glad as birds are That get sweet rain at noon; If I were what the words are, And love were like the tune. If you were Life, my darling, And I, your love, were Death, We’d shine and snow together With daffodil and starling And hours of fruitful breath; If you were Life, my darling, And I, your love, were Death. If you were thrall to Sorrow, And I were page to Joy, We’d play for lives and seasons With loving looks and treasons, And tears of night and morrow, And laughs of maid and boy; If you were thrall to Sorrow, And I were page to Joy. If you were April’s lady, And I were lord in May, We’d throw with leaves for hours, And draw for days with flowers, Till day like night were shady, And night were bright like day; If you were April’s lady, And I were lord in May. If you were queen of pleasure And I were king of pain, We’d hunt down Love together, Pluck out his flying feather, And teach his feet a measure, And find his mouth a rein; If you were queen of pleasure, And I were king of pain. Algernon Charles Swinburne. |
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