Charm of my life, my dearest care,
Never, O never here I swear,
Within my cradling arms has lain
Your like, nor ever will again.
Give me your willing lips that I
May taste the honey of the vine,
And give me when I ask for wine
The cup in which your kisses lie.

And if--ah, if--my sweetest sweet,
With love as true my love you greet,
A greater joy than mortals know
Within my heart will flame and grow;
O not so rapt in godlike bliss
In his high halls is Jove indeed
When in his arms young Ganymede
Snuggles and lifts warm lips to kiss.