We are not sure of sorrow, And joy was never sure; Today will die tomorrow; Time stoops to no man's lure.

I dore not always touch her, lest the kiss Leave my lips charred. Yea, Lord, a little bliss, Brief, bitter bliss, one hath for a great sin; Nathless thou knowest how sweet a thing it is.

Before the beginning of years There came to the making of man Time with a gift of tears, Grief with a glass that ran, Pleasure with pain for leaven, Summer with flowers that fell, Remembrance fallen from heaven, And Madness risen from hell, Strength without hands to smite, Love that endures for a breath; Night, the shadow of light, And Life, the shadow of death.

If you were Queen of pleasure And I were King of pain We'd hunt down Love together, Pluck out his flying-feather, And teach his feet a measure, And find his mouth a rein; If you were Queen of pleasure And I were King of pain.

Body and spirit are twins: God only knows which is which.

But now, you are twain, you are cloven apart Flesh of his flesh, but heart of my heart.

We are not sure of sorrow, And joy was never sure; Today will die tomorrow; Time stoops to no man's lure.