I warn you, though, be on your guard,
Nor an old swordsman's craft disdain,
He jests at scars--what saith the Bard?
Love's wounds are real, and fierce the pain;
If we should die of love, we twain!
You laugh--_en garde_ then--so we start;
Cyrano-like, here's my refrain:
I fight you, darling, for your heart.

If compliments I interlard
Twixt feint and lunge, you'll not complain
Lacking your eyes, the night's un-starred,
The rose is beautiful in vain,
In vain smells sweet--Rose-in-the-Brain,
Dizzying the world--a touch! sweet smart!--
Only the envoi doth remain:
I fight you, darling, for your heart.


ENVOI

Princess, I'm yours; the rose-red rain
Pours from my side--but see! I dart
Within your guard--poor pretty stain!
I fight you, darling, for your heart.