They say to me, thy clear and crystal eyes:

They ask me— thy crystalline eyes, so acute,

“Why dost thou love me so, strange lover mine?”

"Odd lover why am I to thee so dear?"

Be sweet, be still! My heart and soul despise

Be sweet and keep silent, my heart, which is sear,

All save that antique brute-like faith of thine;

For all, save the rude and untutored brute,

And will not bare the secret of their shame

Is loth its infernal depths to reveal,

To thee whose hand soothe me to slumbers long,

And its dissolute motto engraven with fire,

Nor their black legend write for thee in flame!

Oh charmer! whose arms endless slumber inspire!

Passion I hate, a spirit does me wrong.

I abominate passion and wit makes me ill.

Let us love gently. Love, from his retreat,

So let us love gently. Within his retreat,

Ambushed and shadowy, bends his fatal bow,

Foreboding, Love seeks for his arrows a prey,

And I too well his ancient arrows know:

I know all the arms of his battle array.

Crime, horror, folly. O pale Marguerite,

Delirium and loathing O pale Marguerite!

Thou art as I, a bright sun fallen low,

Like me, art thou not an autumnal ray,

O my so white, my so cold Marguerite.

Alas my so white, my so cold Marguerite