Song - by John Keats

You say you love; but with a voice

Chaster than a nun's, who singeth

The soft vespers to herself

While the chime-bell ringeth—

O love me truly!

You say you love; but with a smile

Cold as sunrise in September,

As you were Saint Cupid's nun,

And kept his weeks of Ember—

O love me truly!

You say you love; but then your lips

Coral tinted teach no blisses,

More than coral in the sea—

They never pout for kisses—

O love me truly

You say you love; but then your hand

No soft squeeze for squeeze returneth;

It is like a statue's, dead,—

While mine for passion burneth—

O love me truly!

O breathe a word or two of fire!

Smile, as if those words should burn me,

Squeeze as lovers should—O kiss

And in thy heart inurn me—

O love me truly!