A Match

Algernon Charles Swinburne (1837–1909)

IF love were what the rose is,

And I were like the leaf,

Our lives would grow together

In sad or singing weather,

Blown fields or flowerful closes,

Green pleasure or gray grief;

If love were what the rose is,

And I were like the leaf.

If I were what the words are,

And love were like the tune,

With double sound and single

Delight our lips would mingle,

With kisses glad as birds are

That get sweet rain at noon;

If I were what the words are,

And love were like the tune.

If you were life, my darling,

And I, your love, were death,

We ’d shine and snow together

Ere March made sweet the weather

With daffodil and starling

And hours of fruitful breath;

If you were life, my darling,

And I, your love, were death.

If you were thrall to sorrow,

And I were page to joy,

We ’d play for lives and seasons,

With loving looks and treasons,

And tears of night and morrow,

And laughs of maid and boy;

If you were thrall to sorrow,

And I were page to joy.

If you were April’s lady,

And I were lord in May,

We ’d throw with leaves for hours,

And draw for days with flowers,

Till day like night were shady,

And night were bright like day;

If you were April’s lady,

And I were lord in May.

If you were queen of pleasure,

And I were king of pain,

We ’d hunt down love together,

Pluck out his flying-feather,

And teach his feet a measure,

And find his mouth a rein;

If you were queen of pleasure,

And I were king of pain.

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