COME to my arms — is it eve? is it morn?

Is Apollo awake? Is Diana reborn?

Are the streams in full song? Do the woods whisper hush

Is it the nightingale? Is it the thrush?

Is it the smile of the autumn, the blush

Of the spring? Is the world full of peace or alarms?

Come to my arms, Laylah, come to my arms!

Come to my arms, though the hurricane blow.

Thunder and summer, or winter and snow,

It is one to us, one, while our spirits are curled

In the crimson caress: we are fond, we are furled

Like lilies away from the war of the world.

Are there spells beyond ours? Are there alien charms?

Come to my arms, Laylah, come to my arms!

Come to my arms! is it life? is it death?

Is not all immortality born of your breath?

Are not heaven and hell but as handmaids of yours

Who are all that enflames, who are all that allures,

Who are all that destroys, who are all that endures?

I am yours, do I care if it heals me or harms?

Come to my arms, Laylah, come to my arms!

[181}

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