To the Muse

Skilful the rune of symbols to unravel,
And mute avowals hearkened unawares,
Before the light from lips of flowers fares
With chosen petals I have strown the gravel.

She I awaited came not to the lawn,
And, solitary, I have chased all night
The lilac's and the lily's breath in flight,
And drunk it deeply in the brimful dawn.

Upon the sand these flowers that I have strown
My foot has crushed them down with cruel force,
And I am kneeling near the mirroring source,
Where I have sought her mouth and kissed mine own.

But now I know, and sing with fire renewed
Thy mercy, and thy beauty, and thy youth
Eternal, and I love thee without ruth,
Whom Sappho the divine and Virgil wooed.

I have all odours to perfume thee here,
And dyes for mouth and eyes, and I will make
Thy looks more luminous, and deep, and clear
Than the stainless azure bathing in this lake.

Come with thy too red lips and painted eyes!
My senses wait for thee in these bright bowers,
Where they are flowering with the soul of flowers,
O mother of fables and of lyric lies,

O courtesan! Come where these willows wave,
Lie by the water, I would have thee bare,
With nothing round thine ample shoulders save
All the sun's gold vibrating in thy hair.