WHEREIN HE LAMENTS AND REJOICES IN THE TRANSLATION OF HIS LAUREL TO HEAVEN

That which in perfume and in lustre vied
With the translucent odorous Orient —
Fruits, flowers, herbs and leaves of every scent —
Through whom the West obtained the wreath of pride:
My lovely laurel which has deified
All grace, all beauty, virtue's tower and tent,
Lo, underneath its shadowy firmament
God and my Goddess sitting side by side!
Still in that cherished plant have I reposed
My worthiest of thoughts: in fire, in frost,
Trembling or burning, still have I been blest.
And when the flame fell, when the chapter closed,
The world filled with her to the uttermost —
God raised her up and took her to His Breast.