Kiss the red lips of thy mistress to-day, To-morrow, who knows? thou mayst sleep with the dead. Love, while the heart in thy bosom is gay, Love, while thy blood is a flame that is red. Grey hairs they say, are the pale flowers of death; Blood turns to ice, or but sluggishly flows; Time the remorseless, will soon with his breath Quench the wild fire that exultingly glows. Into my gondola step from the shore, Under its roof we are free from alarms; Veiled are the windows and closed is the door— Nobody sees thee, my love, in my arms. Nobody watches our infinite bliss, Gently we rock on the waters that heave; Like the fond wavelets we toy and we kiss, Mingling caresses this midsummer eve. Love then, while youth thrilling passion inspires, Age soon with snow will extinguish its fires! |