Fruits fail and love dies and time ranges; Thou art fed with perpetual breath, and alive after infinite changes, And fresh from the kisses of death, … - Algernon Charles Swinburne

Wind is lord and change is sovereign of the strand.

At the door of life, by the gate of breath,
There are worse things waiting for men than death.

Lying asleep between the strokes of night
I saw my love lean over my sad bed,
Pale as the duskiest lily's leaf or head,
Smooth-skinned and dark, with bare throat made to bite,
Too wan for blushing and too warm for white,
But perfect-coloured without white or red.
And her lips opened amorously, and said — I wist not what, saving one word — Delight.

And all her face was honey to my mouth,
And all her body pasture to my eyes;
The long lithe arms and hotter hands than fire,
The quivering flanks, hair smelling of the south,
The bright light feet, the splendid supple thighs
And glittering eyelids of my soul's desire.