"DE GUSTIBUS YOUR YOUR ghost will walk, you lover of trees, (If loves remain) In an English lane, By a cornfield-side a-flutter with poppies. A boy and a girl, if the good fates please, The happier they! Draw yourself up from the light of the moon, And let them pass, as they will too soon, With the bean-flowers' boon, And the blackbird's tune, And May, and June! What I love best in all the world, In a gash of the wind-grieved Apennine. To the water's edge. For, what expands WOMEN AND ROSES. Down on the pavement, green-flesh melons, - the king Was shot at, touched in the liver-wing, Goes with his Bourbon arm in a sling. She hopes they have not caught the felons. Queen Mary's saying serves for me, (When fortune's malice Lost her, Calais.) Open my heart and you will see Such lovers old are I and she; Round and round, like a dance of snow Last, in the rear, flee the multitude of maidens, They circle their rose on my rose-tree. Dear rose, thy term is reached, 73 Stay then, stoop, since I cannot climb, Hearts that beat 'neath each pallid breast! Drink once and die!- In vain, the same fashion, Dear rose, thy joy 's undimmed; Thy cup's heart nectar-brimmed. Deep as drops from a statue's plinth Eyes in your eyes, lips on your lips! Fold me fast where the cincture slips, Prison all my soul in eternities of pleasure! Girdle me once! But no, - in their old measure They circle their rose on my rose-tree. Dear rose without a thorn, Thy bud's the babe unborn, First streak of a new morn. Wings, lend wings for the cold, the clear! What's far conquers what is near. Roses will bloom nor want beholders, Sprung from the dust where our own flesh moulders. What shall arrive with the cycle's change? A novel grace and a beauty strange. I will make an Eve, be the artist that began her, Shaped her to his mind! - Alas! in like manner They circle their rose on my rose-tree. |