Goddess the laughter-loving, Aphrodite, befriend! Long have I served thine altars, serve me now at the end, Let me have peace of thee, truce of thee, golden one, send. Heart of my heart have I offered thee, pain of my pain, Yielding my life for the love of thee into thy chain; Lady and goddess be merciful, loose me again. All things I had that were fairest, my dearest and best, Fed the fierce flames on thine altar: ah, surely, my breast Shrined thee alone among goddesses, spurning the rest. Blossom of youth thou hast plucked of me, flower of my days; Stinted I nought in thine honouring, walked in thy ways, Song of my soul pouring out to thee, all in thy praise. Fierce was the flame while it lasted, and strong was thy wine, Meet for immortals that die not, for throats such as thine, Too fierce for bodies of mortals, too potent for mine. Blossom and bloom hast thou taken, now render to me Ashes of life that remain to me, few though they be, Truce of the love of thee, Cyprian, let me go free. Goddess the laughter-loving, Aphrodite, restore Life to the limbs of me, liberty, hold me no more Having the first-fruits and flower of me, cast me the core. TO A LOST LOVE I seek no more to bridge the gulf that lies Betwixt our separate ways; For vainly my heart prays, Hope droops her head and dies; I see the sad, tired answer in your eyes. I did not heed, and yet the stars were clear; Dreaming that love could mate Lives grown so separate;-- But at the best, my dear, I see we should not have been very near. I knew the end before the end was nigh: The stars have grown so plain; Vainly I sigh, in vain For things that come to some, But unto you and me will never come. WISDOM Love wine and beauty and the spring, While wine is red and spring is here, And through the almond blossoms ring The dove-like voices of thy Dear. Love wine and spring and beauty while The wine hath flavour and spring masks Her treachery in so soft a smile That none may think of toil and tasks. But when spring goes on hurrying feet, Look not thy sorrow in the eyes, And bless thy freedom from thy sweet: This is the wisdom of the wise. IN SPRING See how the trees and the osiers lithe Are green bedecked and the woods are blithe, The meadows have donned their cape of flowers, The air is soft with the sweet May showers, And the birds make melody: But the spring of the soul, the spring of the soul, Cometh no more for you or for me. The lazy hum of the busy bees Murmureth through the almond trees; The jonquil flaunteth a gay, blonde head, The primrose peeps from a mossy bed, And the violets scent the lane. But the flowers of the soul, the flowers of the soul, For you and for me bloom never again. A LAST WORD