Take but my song upon your lips, my love

Take but my song upon your lips, my love,

And my faint hope that is at point of death

Some answering chord within your breast may move,

When it is made to soar on such sweet breath.

Yes, breathe upon my poor words, passion-pale,

And all the fire that in them doth abide

Will kindle into flame, and all that tale

Of love be told whereof my song has died.