love poem

I have a garden of my own,
Shining with flowers of every hue;
I love it dearly while alone,
But I shall love it more with you:
And there the golden bees shall crone,
In summertime at break of morn,
And wake us with their busy hum
Around the Siha's fragrant thorn.

I have a fawn from Aden's land,
On leafy buds and berries nurst;
And you shall feed him from your hand,
Though he may start with fear at first.
And I will lead you where he lies
For shelter in the noon-tide heat;
And you may touch his sleepy eyes,

To me no pastime sweeter seems
Than through the woods to go,
Where throstle sings and falcon screams,
Where leap the hart and roe.

O would my love a throstle were
And sang on yonder spray;
Or, like a roe, came bounding fair—
I'd hunt her all the day!

One day in the bloom of a violet
I found a simple word;
And my heart went softly humming it,
Till the violet must have heard.

And deep in the depth of a crimson rose
A writing showed so plain,
I scanned it over in veriest joy
To the patter of summer rain.

And then from the grateful mignonette
I read—ah, such a thing!
That the glad tears fell on it like dew,
And my soul was ready to sing.

A few little words! Before that day
I never had taken heed;
But, oh, how I blessed the love that came—

Curr dhoo, curr dhoo,
Love me, and I'll love you.

In the strength of the endeavor,
In the temper of the giver,
In the loving of the lover,
Lies the hidden recompense.

In the sowing of the sower,
In the fleeting of the flower,
In the fading of each hour,
Lurks eternal recompense.

Bring me no more flowers. Bring me cypress branches in which to plunge my face.

When the sun has disappeared behind the mountains I put on my robe of blue with the thin sleeves and go and sleep among the bamboos which she loved.

I cannot believe that I am of wind,
For earth and wind can match a god.
I cannot believe in writing so …
What would you do
If I must mind
The world of blossom's
Lay and peace?—
The rest of love
And charm's uncease?
I cannot believe the find.

My love
Knows no destination
And has no goal;
I think only
Of meeting as its limit.

My days are different froMyour days, my life
Is hedged about as with a hedge of flowers,
Flowers bright as roses and with thorns as keen.
So is my girlhood guarded from the strife
The turmoil of the world's contending powers.

Since shapes in shadow are but dimly seen
By those who in the summer sunlight stand,
I can but guess those sordid things and sad
That mar the great sweet world, and come between
All simple human hearts in every land.

They came between your heart, and mine made glad

Was this His coming! I had hoped to see
A scene of wondrous glory, as was told
Of some great God who in a rain of gold
Broke open bars and fell on Danae:
Or a dread vision as when Semele
Sickening for love and unappeased desire
Prayed to see God's clear body, and the fire
Caught her brown limbs and slew her utterly:
With such glad dreams I sought this holy place,
And now with wondering eyes and heart I stand
Before this supreme mystery of Love:
Some kneeling girl with passionless pale face,