All take these lips away; no more, 
No more such kisses give to me. 
My spirit faints for joy; I see 
Through mists of death the dreamy shore, 
And meadows by the water-side, 
Where all about the Hollow Land 
Fare the sweet singers that have died, 
With their lost ladies, hand in hand; 
Ah, Love, how fireless are their eyes, 
How pale their lips that kiss and smile! 
So mine must be in little while 
If thou wilt kiss me in such wise.