The Garden Inclosed

Fulcite me floribus.

Dear is thy bandage, Love,
To my heavy lids that it closes;
It weighs like the sweet burden of
Sunshine on frail, white roses.

I walk as to voices that call,
I seem over waters to hover,
And every wave, like a lover,
Folds round my feet as they fall.

Who has unloosened my tresses,
As through the dark places I came?
Girdled with unseen caresses,
I plunge into billows of flame.

My lips, where my soul is crooning,
Open in rapt desire,
Like a burning blossom swooning
Over a river on fire.

Dormis et cor meum vigilat.

My hands lie for my breasts to soothe,
Of playing and of distaffs tired;
My white hands, my hands desired,
Seem asleep on waters smooth.

Far from futile, waste repining,
On this my beauty's throne,
Frail, calm, gentle Queens reclining,
My royal hands dream of their own.

And while mine eyes are closed, and still is
The golden hair my breast that robes,
I am the virgin holding lilies,
I am the infant holding globes.

Si floruit vinea.

In mulberry time they sang my lips that yield
To keen caresses,
And, like the rain upon the summer field,
My long, warm tresses.

In time of vintaging they sang mine eyes,
Mine eyes half-closed,
Veiled by tired lids and lashes unreposed,
Like autumn skies.

I have all gleams and savours, I am supple
As a bindweed in hedgerow bowers,
My breasts are curved as flames are, or a couple
Of sister flowers.

Ego dilecto meo et dilectus meus mihi.

When thou dost plunge into mine eyes thine eyes,
I am all within mine eyes.

When thy mouth unties my mouth,
My love is nothing save my mouth.

When thy fingers lightly touch my hair,
I am not if it be not there.

When they touch my breasts at any time,
Like a sudden fire to them I climb.

Is it this which is to thee most dear?
Here my soul is, all my life is here.

In a perfume of white roses
She sits, dream fast;
And the shadow is beautiful as though an angel there
were glassed.

The gloam descends, the grove reposes;
The leaves and branches through
On the gold Paradise is opening one of blue.

A last faint wave breaks on the darkening shore.
A voice that sang just now is murmuring.
A murmuring breath is breathing ... now no more.
In the silence petals fall....

The angel of the morning star came down
Into her garden, and he spake to her:

"Come with me, I will show thee many a lake,
Valleys delightful, secret forest bowers,
Where still, in other dreams than ours,
The subtle spirits wake
Of the earth."

She stretched her arms, with laughter
Looking between her lashes on
The angel flaming in the sun,
And, when he moved, in silence followed after.

And while they wandered to the groves of shade
The Angel round her laid
His arm, and set
Among her bright hair longer than his wings
The flowers he gathered dewy wet
Upon the branches over her.