The Star and the Garter

XXIX So, love, not thus for you and me! And if I am man, no more, expect I shall remain so, till, maybe, The anatomist, old Time, dissect Me, nerve from flesh, and bone from bone, And raise me spiritual, changed In all but love for you, my own; The little matter rearranged, The little mind refigured. This Alone I hope or think to keep :— The love I bear you, and the kiss Too soft to call the breath of sleep. And, if you are woman, even there I do decline : we stand above. I ask not, and will take no share With you in what mankind call love. We know each other: you and I Have nought to do with lesser things. With them—'tis chance or destiny : With us, we should but burn our wings. 64