Two words, so comfortable are they, so brief,
Which we oft utter with becharm'd delight,
Without real knowledge of these things in sight,
Things which indeed convey the stamp's relief.
It does us good in morn and sunset's light,
To sear them brashly on each other's grief;
And if they can conjoin then as one sheaf,
This we express by single blessing bright.
Yet now I seek to please these two in kind,
And so content myself with my own breath;
And still in hopes of gaining this I might:
Then garble them as lovers' names entwined,
Beholding both within a single sketch,
Subsuming both within a single wight.