THE VALLEY
I will walk down to the valley
And lay my head in her breast,
Where are two white doves,
The Queen of Love's,
In a silken nest;
And, all the afternoon,
They croon and croon
The one word "Rest!"
And a little stream
That runs thereby
Sings "Dream!"
Over and over
It sings—
"O lover,
Dream!"
BALLADE OF THE BEES OF TREBIZOND
There blooms a flower in Trebizond
Stored with such honey for the bee,
(So saith the antique book I conned)
Of such alluring fragrancy,
Not sweeter smells the Eden-tree;
Thither the maddened feasters fly,
Yet—so alas! is it with me—
To taste that honey is to die.
Belovèd, I, as foolish fond,
Feast still my eyes and heart on thee,
Asking no blessedness beyond
Thy face from morn till night to see,
Ensorcelled past all remedy;
Even as those foolish bees am I,
Though well I know my destiny—
To taste that honey is to die.
O'er such a doom shall I despond?
I would not from thy snare go free,
Release me not from thy sweet bond,
I live but in thy mystery;
Though all my senses from me flee,
I still would glut my glazing eye,
Thou nectar of mortality—
To taste that honey is to die.
ENVOI
Princess, before I cease to be,
Bend o'er my lips so burning dry
Thy honeycombs of ivory—
To taste that honey is to die.
BROKEN TRYST
Waiting in the woodland, watching for my sweet,
Thinking every leaf that stirs the coming of her feet,
Thinking every whisper the rustle of her gown,
How my heart goes up and up, and then goes down and down.