Classic Poem

Black maid, complain not that I fly,
When Fate commands antipathy:
Prodigious, might that onion prove,
Where Night and Day together move,
And the conjunction of our lips
Not kisses make, but an eclipse,
In which the mixed black and white
Portends more terror than delight.
Yet if my shadow thou wilt be,
Enjoy thy dearest wish. But see
Thou take my shadow's property,
That hastes away when I come nigh.
Else stay till death hath blinded me,
And then I will bequeath myself to thee.