Sweetest Lily, floral, your name;
your charm is but the morning dew,
your blush belies your bedded folly,
yet bequeaths you faultless fame.
Dearest darling, how soft your voice,
like the breath of angels, sings to me,
with soothe of kiss, then seals my fate;
this love of yours, my fated choice.
Beloved mistress, night be your sea,
and I but bathe in moonlight repose,
unhurried, ‘ere your flesh begets mine;
‘ere, unbridled martyrs, thus, are we.
For now, farewell, as dawn comes soon;
silken impressions ‘ere mark our stay,
’til once more, we quake bed asunder,
and on the morrow, requite the moon.