In green sweet beds of moly and of thyme
Wild as an errant fancy. All the while
We know you, mystic rose; we know your smile,
Your deep, still eyes, your fragrant floating hair,
The peacock purple of the gown you wear,
O lyric alchemist of rune and rhyme!
SAPPHICS
Leave the Vine, Ah Love, and the wreath of myrtle,
Leave the Song, to die, on the lips of laughter,