A MATCH. BY ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE.
Reading edition
This poem is an excellent example of Swinburne’s wonderful inventiveness in the meter of his verses.
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 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.