All take these lips away; no more,

No more such kisses give to me.

My spirit faints for joy; I see

Through mists of death the dreamy shore,

And meadows by the water-side,

Where all about the Hollow Land

Fare the sweet singers that have died,

With their lost ladies, hand in hand;

Ah, Love, how fireless are their eyes,

How pale their lips that kiss and smile!

So mine must be in little while

If thou wilt kiss me in such wise.