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Ask me no more: the moon may draw the sea; The cloud may stoop from heaven and take the shape, with fold to fold, of mountain or cape; But O too fond, when have I answered thee? Ask me no more. Ask me no more: what answer should I give? I love not hollow cheek or faded eye: Yet, O my friend, I will not have thee die! Ask me no more, lest I should bid thee live; Ask me no more. Ask me no more: thy fate and mine are sealed; I strove against the stream and all in vain; Let the great river take me to the main. No more, dear love, for at a touch I yield; Ask me no more. (Alfred, Lord Tennyson) |