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Softly as brown-eyed Angels rove
I will return to thy alcove,
And glide upon the night to thee,
Treading the shadows silently.

And when returns the livid morn
Thou shalt find all my place forlorn
And chilly, till the falling night

And I will give to thee, my own,
Kisses as icy as the moon,
And the caresses of a snake
Cold gliding in the thorny brake.

Others would rule by tenderness
Over thy life and youthfulness,
But I would conquer thee by fright!

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