Dear, do not think that I
Will praise your beauty the less,
Believing death for ever
Snows up its fair impress.
Nor slight my love because
It claims no magic re-birth,
But deems all kissing over
When lips are laid to earth.
I’ll praise your beauty as
A dewdrop fast on its prime –
A still perfection lasting
But for one blink of time.
So short its hour, your love
To mine should bravelier rush,
Bird-note to bird-note thrusting
Out between hush and hush.