And will she never hold her tongue,
  About that feather in her hat;
  Her scarf, when she has done with that,
And then the bangle on her wrist;
  And is my silence meant to make
Her talk the more - the more she's kissed?

At last, with silence matching mine,
  She feels the passion deep and strong,
  That fears to trust a timid tongue.
Say, Love - that draws us close together -
  Isn't she the very life of Death?
No more of bangle, scarf or feather.