A Hope To Die
Oh, but let me die tonight
While still in the arms of loneliness.
Let my bed be my coffin
And my tears be my grave.
Let my breathing cease,
My mourning eyes wither,
And my flesh grow stiff,
For what merit is there in living a thousand years
If I cannot make your lips court mine.
If fairies do wishes grant,
Then I wish not for money or fame,
But for a kiss from your lips to my own.
