Poems (Spofford)/A Lover's Garden
A LOVER'S GARDEN.
I think the white azaleas, dear,
Shaped out of air to match thyself,
Yet doubt if thou wilt find one here
Among this fragrant flowery pelf;
For they must hide when thou art near,—
As pale as moonlight and as clear.
Shaped out of air to match thyself,
Yet doubt if thou wilt find one here
Among this fragrant flowery pelf;
For they must hide when thou art near,—
As pale as moonlight and as clear.
But any rose that here may blow
Is not one half so fair as thou,
Though petaled white with flakes of snow—
Yet bind no spray about thy brow;
Let the voluptuous roses go,
For roses have a thorn, we know.
Is not one half so fair as thou,
Though petaled white with flakes of snow—
Yet bind no spray about thy brow;
Let the voluptuous roses go,
For roses have a thorn, we know.
But bend, and pass not lightly by,
Where faintest odors hover low;
Here filmy violets ensky
Meanings that should not fail thee so,
Since in their heaven-deepened dye
Pure dreams of perfect passion lie.
Where faintest odors hover low;
Here filmy violets ensky
Meanings that should not fail thee so,
Since in their heaven-deepened dye
Pure dreams of perfect passion lie.
And here, like spirits of the blest,
The golden censer in the hand,
To worship and to praise addressed,
Rank after rank the lilies stand;
Long for a place upon thy breast,
Ask is thy smile or sunshine best!
The golden censer in the hand,
To worship and to praise addressed,
Rank after rank the lilies stand;
Long for a place upon thy breast,
Ask is thy smile or sunshine best!
And flout not the famed fleur-de-lis,
That lightly nods that purple plume;
Flower of romantic chivalry,
All France bends to thee in its bloom!
A royal banner's blazonry,—
Thy sceptre would it rather be!
That lightly nods that purple plume;
Flower of romantic chivalry,
All France bends to thee in its bloom!
A royal banner's blazonry,—
Thy sceptre would it rather be!
Where float the moths, the bluebirds sip,
Where breath is rapture to the core,
Where honeysuckles climb and slip,
Linger, and say, Had Eden more?
Tiptoe, and let the glad things drip
Their golden honey on thy lip!
Where breath is rapture to the core,
Where honeysuckles climb and slip,
Linger, and say, Had Eden more?
Tiptoe, and let the glad things drip
Their golden honey on thy lip!
But o'er those beds of blasting blight,
Blue hoods of poison and the tomb,—
That blood-red blossom, a delight
To look at, but whose touch is doom,—
Ah, let thy foot make facile flight
Through foxglove and through aconite!
Blue hoods of poison and the tomb,—
That blood-red blossom, a delight
To look at, but whose touch is doom,—
Ah, let thy foot make facile flight
Through foxglove and through aconite!
Yet breathe thee where the winds outroll
From heliotropes an atmosphere
Of fullest joy and vaguest dole,
That makes each moment deep and dear,
While dim regrets shall fill thy soul,
And longings for some unknown goal.
From heliotropes an atmosphere
Of fullest joy and vaguest dole,
That makes each moment deep and dear,
While dim regrets shall fill thy soul,
And longings for some unknown goal.
So shall these buds forever bloom
Around thee in my memory's freak;
The strawberry-tree refuse thee room,
The sweet-brier spray brush by thy cheek,
And thou be fresh 'mid their perfume,
And white 'mid their ensanguined gloom.
Around thee in my memory's freak;
The strawberry-tree refuse thee room,
The sweet-brier spray brush by thy cheek,
And thou be fresh 'mid their perfume,
And white 'mid their ensanguined gloom.
Then flit down yonder hawthorn coast,
The ancient lilac alleys thread,
And turn the labyrinth, and be lost;
That one day, when all hope is dead,
And when the place is dreary most,
Haunt it, I may, with thy sweet ghost!
The ancient lilac alleys thread,
And turn the labyrinth, and be lost;
That one day, when all hope is dead,
And when the place is dreary most,
Haunt it, I may, with thy sweet ghost!