O! take your pale camellias back;
Their soft leaves, waxen white
And odorless, too ill accord
With my dark mood to-night.
I do not want your hot-house flowers,
They're like the love you give —
A something tame and passionless
That breaths but does not live.
You take my hand as though you feared
Your clasp were over-bold,
Your kiss falls light at flake of snow,
And just as calm and cold.
I'd rather have your hatred
Than this lifeless loving claim,
If your heart beat one throb faster
At mention of my name.
Leave me, and bind those soulless leaves
A calmer brow above;
I cannot wear your flowers to-night —
I do not want your love.