…from the quills of the dead white poets
William Ernest Henley 1849 -1903
And the while your lips are wet
Set your perfume unto mine,
Every kiss we take and give
Leaves us less of life to live.
Yet again! Your whim and mine
In a happy while have met.
All your sweets to me resign,
That we press with every breath,
Sighed or singing, nearer death.