III

Lift the latch! ah gently! ah tenderly—sweet!

      We are dead if that latchet gives one little clink!

Well done—now those lips, and a flowery seat—

      The old man may sleep, and the planets may wink;

            The shut rose shall dream of our loves and awake

            Full-blown, and such warmth for the morning take,

The stock-dove shall hatch her soft brace and shall coo,

While I kiss to the melody, aching all through.