Fill well my soul for what it missed of yore,
Enrich me ever with your flowery lore!
I can recall no more the northern nights!
I know when on my mouth is set your mouth
The sensuous, sweet savors of the South.
XI
There was a little garden that I knew
Far, far to north—where still my childhood stays—
The garden of my girlhood, of its Mays,
Where frail and strange, unreal, dream-flowers grew.