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!