Parfait Amour

It is not that thy face is fair
  As dying sunsets are,
Nor that thy lovely eyelids wear
  The splendour of a star;
’Tis the deep sadness of thine eyes
  Hath my heart captive led,
And that within thy soul I prize
  The calmness of the dead.

O holy love, O fair white face,
  O sweet lost soul of thine!
Thy bosom is an altar-place,
  Thy kisses holy wine;
Sweet incense offer’d for my bliss
  Is thy corrupted breath,
And on thy stained lips I kiss
  The holy lips of Death!

Wherefore because thy heart is all
  Fill’d full of mournfulness,
And thy gold head as with a pall
  Hung o’er with sinfulness;
Because thy soul is utterly
  Sinful unto the core⁠—
Therefore my heart is bound to thee,
  Dear love, forevermore!