Amid the Trees of Eden

Thou who, amid the trees of Eden, art a flowering myrtle tree,
And amid the stars of heaven, art the bright
God hath sent to thee a cluster of pure myrrh
Of His own work, not the perfumer’s skill.
The dove from whom, that day she nested in the myrtle tree,
The myrtle stole her fragrance and gave forth perfume—
Ask not, while with her, for the sun to rise;
She asketh not, with thee, for the rising of the moon.