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George Meredith - Song (Untitled #10)
Work rating: Low

Come to me in any shape! 
As a victor crown`d with vine, 
In thy curls the clustering grape, - 
Or a vanquished slave: 
`Tis thy coming that I crave, 
And thy folding serpent twine, 
Close and dumb; 
Ne`er from that would I escape; 
Come to me in any shape! 
Only come! 

Only come, and in my breast 
Hide thy shame or show thy pride; 
In my bosom be caressed, 
Never more to part; 
Come into my yearning heart; 
I, the serpent, golden-eyed, 
Twine round thee; 
Twine thee with no venomed test; 
Absence makes the venomed nest; 
Come to me! 

Come to me, my lover, come! 
Violets on the tender stem 
Die and wither in their bloom, 
Under dewy grass; 
Come, my lover, or, alas! 
I shall die, shall die like them, 
Frail and lone; 
Come to me, my lover, come! 
Let thy bosom be my tomb: 
Come, my own!
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