Could I not leave upon your face
The print of lips, on the divine
Soft throat and bosom's interspace
Where once my kisses found a shrine?

I should have sealed you for my own,
On lip or chin or tender cheek,
One night, when powerless and alone
You lay, too faint to see or speak.

This were a marvel to the wise:
That of the visions I recall
In your light laughing face and eyes
There lives no memory at all.