FLOWER SONGS.
27
The dew-drop on my bosom gives The whole of heaven to searching eyes,Only he who sees it lives, And only he who slights it dies.
Ah, what bewildering warmth and wealth Gather within my central fold!Love-lorn airs of happy health Hive with the honey that I hold.
This dazzling ruddiness divine Shrouds spicy savors deep and dear,Passion's sign and countersign, The inmost meaning of the sphere.
Petal on petal opening wide, My being into beauty flows—Hundred-leaved and damask-dyed— Yet nothing, nothing but a rose!
And shaking off a sudden passionate tearThe rose ceased warble, and in an ecstasyShed all her lovely leaves around my feetAnd stood discrowned.
