The First and Last

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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!