Roden Berkeley Wriothesley Noel (1834–1894)

IF the sun low down in the West, my friend,

Fill’d earth with fiery wine,

If a hand were on my breast, my friend,

And lips were laid on mine,

And we together

In summer weather

Lay in a leafy dell,

Could the weariness,

Or the long distress,

Or any fiends from hell,

Wipe out that hour of rest, my friend,

And the rapture all divine?

Then if thy blade were buried deep

Within this heart of mine,

From the warm whiteness fierce would leap

My fiery blood like wine;

Earth all about the West, my friend,

After orgies of rich wine,

Wan lying in the sun’s decline,

And I in arms of thine, my friend,

In dying arms of thine!