Oh, my beloved, have you thought of this: How in the years to come unscrupulous Time, More cruel than Death, will tear you from my kiss, And make you old, and leave me in my prime?...
As to some lovely temple, tenantless Long since, that once was sweet with shivering brass, Knowing well its altars ruined and the grass Grown up between the stones, yet from excess...
Cherish you then the hope I shall forget At length, my lord, Pieria?--put away For your so passing sake, this mouth of clay These mortal bones against my body set, For all the puny fever and frail sweat...