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 IF the loved one, the well-known one,
Should return as he departed,
On his lips would ring my kisses,
Though the wolf's blood might have dyed them;
And a hearty grasp I'd give him,
Though his finger-ends were serpents.
Wind! Oh, if thou hadst but reason, Word for word in turns thou'dst carry, E'en though some perchance might perish 'Tween two lovers so far distant.
All choice morsels I'd dispense with, Table-flesh of priests neglect too, Sooner than renounce my lover, Whom, in Summer having vanquish'd, I in Winter tamed still longer.

by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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