The First and Last

O kiss me now; the end is near
The bright beginning; kiss me, dear.
I would not that thou shouldst one day
In bitter thought remembering say:

“When in the high tide of our bliss
Upon these lips I slew the kiss
That should have lived.” The kiss I fear⁠—
The poison, ah, the lie, my dear.

Fear not; O kiss me whilst I can’t
Refuse; am I to-morrow thine?
Wilt thou be near me when I pant?

I shall not go; thou wilt not pine.
Sweet thoughts!⁠—Alas, the first, the last!

Nay, nay! I cling to thee: the past
Is dying in the lap of night
In which our star is shining bright.

The fingers in the shadow, there!
What are they weaving? Look, a shroud!
Come, purse thy lips; do not despair;
Take hold my hand and speak aloud.

No, no! For whom that shroud, for whom?
Not for our love⁠—not for our joy?

Then seal thou with thy lips my doom,
Ay, with a kiss this life destroy!