The Boy’s Answer to the Blackmoor

Black maid, complain not that I fly,

When Fate commands antipathy:

Prodigious might that union prove,

Where Night and Day together move,

And the conjunction of our lips

Not kisses make, but an eclipse,

In which the mixed black and white

Portends more terror than delight.

Yet if my shadow thou wilt be,

Enjoy thy dearest wish. But see

Thou take my shadow’s property,

That hastes away when I come nigh.

    Else stay till death hath blinded me,

And then I will bequeath myself to thee.