The misstress

Come, my dear,
I've been waiting for thee.
Come, sit with me.
Have no fear.

Your cheeks, white as snow,
your eyes, black as night,
those i cannot fight,
not your unearthly glow.

it is thee i need
to be glad,
that must be said
'tis for you i bleed.

Already we must go?
then take my hand,
from you i will not fend,
let's cross the river's flow.

take thy scythe
in thy hand
and with the blade so bright
take me to a better land.