You who have wasted this June for me,

Bitter be the seed of your love.

Long midnights by the sea

Have I waited for your return,

Counting the stars—

Bitter be the seed of your love.

And as stars go out in the crocus light of dawn,

As waters drip from a failing fountain,

So passed these days of June.

As a boy strips from a stalk of snap-dragons

The perfect blossoms,

And treads them into the earth,

So you have taken the June days from me—

Bitter be the seed of your love.

On my couch by the sea,

My golden curls loosened,

Resting after the cool ablution of evening waters,

My body white as whitecaps, under the moon,

My eyes large as the fox's lurking in darkness,

I have waited for your return.

May the scourge of Asia mar your beautiful body,

Beloved!

You have wasted my loveliest June.

As the unheeding wind

Drives the falling cherry blossoms

Into the purple waves,

So you have scattered my days of June—

Bitter be the seed of your love!

I have distilled henbane for you,

Beloved,

And put it in a crystal vial.

The moon of October will shine,

Then you will come to me,

Your wanderings and treasons finished!

And when you slip exhausted from my arms

I will give you wine from a golden cup,

And pour the henbane in it—

I shall give you henbane for the poison of defeated love;

I shall kiss your dead lips, Beloved.

Then I shall drink, too.

Our bodies shall feed the worms

As these June days have fed my writhing sorrow,

Beloved murderer of my June!