On the contrary, it's that I love you more.
With each passing day,
Down each lover's Way
To unseen places
And unknown faces
Whose voices rise and fall
With each desperate mourning call
For lovers long lost.
In the eye of the rose blossom
I see my fate.
Your scent envelopes me
Yet fades too soon
As retreating stars
And fleeing moon
Make their escape
Just before the day breaks.
No, it's not that I love you less.
On the contrary, I cannot love you more.
For if love be a drink,
And to drink be a sin,
Then let me drink not once, not twice,
But three times,
And let my soul be condemned.
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