My heart's whole love in thy white hand I lay,
Irrevocably as befits the deed,
Undoubtingly, for surely Love decreed
Complete surrender, and I must obey.
Sweet Lady, do not throw the love away;
There may be roses in a wrinkled seed,
And Pan drew music from a broken reed
Till all the world danced round to hear him play.
Imprisoned in my passion's thorny fruit
A million crimson roses crumpled lie;
And though my melancholy heart be mute,
Touch it and lyric voices will reply.
Make of the hollow reed a magic lute,
To tremble with thy breath, and sing, and sigh.