Classic Poem

Oh! were I gathered to the heart of him for lack of whom I die: if Envy should forbid me not to live the rest of my brief days with him:
If, as he held me, he should say: — Fair love, let us be happy each with other, — vowing that neither storm nor strait nor stream should part us in this life:
If, as I clasped him in my arms, even as the ivy clings about the tree, Death took me, envious of my bliss:
Then, as he sweetlier kissed me, as my spirit fled upon his lips, I would indeed die, more than in living, glad.