Then shall the heathen people say, The multitude being at ease; Lo, this is that Aholibah Whose name was blown among strange seas. Grown old with soft adulteries. Also her bed was made of green, Her windows beautiful for glass That she had made her bed between: Yea, for pure lust her body was Made like white summer-coloured grass. Her raiment was a strong man's spoil; Upon a table by a bed She set mine incense and mine oil To be the beauty of her head In chambers walled about with red. Also between the walls she had Fair faces of strong men portrayed; All girded round the loins, and clad With several cloths of woven braid And garments marvellously made. Therefore the wrath of God shall be Set as a watch upon her way; And whoso findeth by the sea Blown dust of bones will hardly say If this were that Aholibah. LOVE AND SLEEP Lying asleep between the strokes of night I saw my love lean over my sad bed, Pale as the duskiest lily's leaf or head, Smooth-skinned and dark, with bare throat made to bite, Too wan for blushing and too warm for white, But perfect-coloured without white or red. And her lips opened amorously, and said-- I wist not what, saving one word--Delight. And all her face was honey to my mouth, And all her body pasture to mine eyes; The long lithe arms and hotter hands than fire, The quivering flanks, hair smelling of the south, The bright light feet, the splendid supple thighs And glittering eyelids of my soul's desire. MADONNA MIA Under green apple-boughs That never a storm will rouse, My lady hath her house Between two bowers; In either of the twain Red roses full of rain; She hath for bondwomen All kind of flowers. She hath no handmaid fair To draw her curled gold hair Through rings of gold that bear Her whole hair's weight; She hath no maids to stand Gold-clothed on either hand; In all the great green land None is so great. She hath no more to wear But one white hood of vair Drawn over eyes and hair, Wrought with strange gold, Made for some great queen's head, Some fair great queen since dead; And one strait gown of red Against the cold. Beneath her eyelids deep Love lying seems asleep, Love, swift to wake, to weep, To laugh, to gaze; Her breasts are like white birds, And all her gracious words As water-grass to herds In the June-days. To her all dews that fall And rains are musical; Her flowers are fed from all, Her joy from these; In the deep-feathered firs Their gift of joy is hers, In the least breath that stirs Across the trees.