For ever fearing lest absence be near;
For the days when thou held’st the Beloved close,
Why rise not thy thanks so that all may hear?
XXXI
The breath of Dawn’s musk-strewing wind shall blow,
The ancient world shall turn to youth again,
And other wines from out Spring’s chalice flow;
Wine-red, the judas-tree shall set before
The pure white jessamine a brimming cup,
And wind flowers lift their scarlet chalice up