XII
Wherefore I duly will invoke the God
Of Tears that he may mingle yours and mine,
Water therewith Life's unresponsive sod,
And raise therefrom some sickly growth of vine
Whose grape shall yield a bitter draught of woe
Fit for the assuaging of a deadlier thirst
Than Attis knew or Abelard: even so
I suffer; than some lovely nun accurst
Who beats her breast upon the convent bars,
Even so you suffer: let its draught restore
All lovers (that invoke the sad cold stars)
Unto good luck: then you and I once more
(Though still we were forbidden word and kiss)
Might find a certain happiness in this.
Of Tears that he may mingle yours and mine,
Water therewith Life's unresponsive sod,
And raise therefrom some sickly growth of vine
Whose grape shall yield a bitter draught of woe
Fit for the assuaging of a deadlier thirst
Than Attis knew or Abelard: even so
I suffer; than some lovely nun accurst
Who beats her breast upon the convent bars,
Even so you suffer: let its draught restore
All lovers (that invoke the sad cold stars)
Unto good luck: then you and I once more
(Though still we were forbidden word and kiss)
Might find a certain happiness in this.
— 46 —
