Even I it was, who, long athirst
And hungry, saw the apple shine;
Then wondrous wild sweet singing burst
Flame-like across these lips of mine.
“O, ruby-flushed and flaring gold,
Thou splendid lone one left for me,
Apple of love to filch and hold,
Fruit-glory of a kingly tree!
Drop, drop into my hand,
That I may hide thee in my breast,