Had I the power To Midas given of old To touch a flower And leave the petals gold I then might touch thy face, Delightful boy, And leave a metal grace, A graven joy.

Thus would I slay, -

Ah, desperate device!

The vital day That trembles in thine eyes, And let the red lips close Which sang so well, And drive away the rose To leave a shell.

Then I myself, Rising austere and dumb On the hight shelf Of my half-lighted room, Would place the shining bust And wait alone, Until I was but dust, Buried unknown.

Thus in my love For nations yet unborn, I would remove From our two lives the morn, And muse on loveliness In mine armchair, Content should Time confess How sweet you were.