  I. "Had I two loaves of bread—ay, ay! One would I sell and hyacinths buy To feed my soul."—"Or let me die!" Beauty, dew-sweet, of heavenly birth, Thy flower is writ of grief, not mirth, Thy rainbow's footed on the earth. Rainbows and hyacinths! O seers, Your voices call across the years: "The bread of Beauty's wet with tears! II. The living words from Beauty's mien, Than blade by swordsman swung more keen, Spirit and soul divide between: "Pure as the sapphire-blue from blame, Humble as glad, of holiest aim— Love's seven-fold beam a flashing flame!" III. It yearns me sore, so near, so far! My heart moans like the harbor-bar, For coming of the morning star. Buy hyacinths—a goodly share! Ascend, O soul, love's iris-stair, The bridegroom waiteth for thee there! |
|
