And is it night? are they thine eyes that shine? Are we alone, and here? and here, alone? May I come near, may I but touch thy shrine? Is jealousy asleep, and is he gone? O Gods, no more! silence my lips with thine! Lips, kisses, joys, hap, -- blessings most divine! Oh, come, my dear! Our griefs are turned to night, And night to joys; night blinds pale envy's eyes; Silence and sleep prepare us our delight; Oh, cease we then our woes, our griefs, our cries: Oh, vanish words! words do but passions move; O dearest life! joy's sweet! O sweetest love! |