A cypress and an orange sprang from these lovers' graves,
They grew and leaned together, and with their branches
kissed.
The King in savage anger» bade axemen cut them down,
But from their severed trunks arose a heavenly mist.
From his cloud came a pigeon, from her cloud a ringdove,
They flew before the King at his table as he ate.
"Accursed be the loves that thus mock me to my face,
And neither life nor death has power to separate."