Red lips are not so red br As the stained stones kissed by the English dead. br Kindness of wooed and wooer br Seems shame to their love pure. br O Love, your eyes lose lure br When I behold eyes blinded in my stead! br br Your slender attitude br Trembles not exquisite like limbs knife-skewed, br Rolling and rolling there br Where God seems not to care; br Till the fierce love they bear br Cramps them in death's extreme decrepitude. br br Your voice sings not so soft,- br Though even as wind murmuring through raftered loft,- br Your dear voice is not dear, br Gentle, and evening clear, br As theirs whom none now hear, br Now earth has stopped their piteous mouths that coughed. br br Heart, you were never hot br Nor large, nor full like hearts made great with shot; br And though your hand be pale, br Paler are all which trail br Your cross through flame and hail: br Weep, you may weep, for you may touch them not.