Raptures that my wildest Dreaming never pictured, Arts of love that charmed me, Subtle, new and strange. Hearken to my earnest Prayer, O Aphrodite! May the night be doubled Now for our delight. PHAON PHILOMEL Philomel in my garden, Messenger sweet of springtide, From the bough of the olive tree utter Tidings ecstatic. Linger long on thy olden Note as in days remembered; Ere the Boatman that knew Aphrodite Ravished my vision. Fatal glamor of beauty, Beauty of Gods made mortal; Ah, before its delight I am ever Fearful of heaven. Spring in breeze and the blossom, Grasses and leaves and odors, On my heart with the breath of a vanished April is shaken; Shaken with thrill and regret of Lost caresses and kisses; Anactoria's memory, Atthis Never forgotten. Philomel in my garden, Messenger sweet of springtide, From the bough of the olive tree utter Tidings ecstatic. GOLDEN PULSE Golden pulse grew on the shore, Ferns along the hill, And the red cliff roses bore Bees to drink their fill; Bees that from the meadows bring Wine of melilot, Honey-sups on golden wing To the garden grot. But to me, neglected flower, Phaon will not see, Passion brings no crowning hour, Honey nor the bee. THE SWALLOW Daughter of Pandion, lovely Swallow that veers at my window, Swift on the flood of the sunshine Darting thy shadow; What is thy innocent purpose, Why dost thou hover and haunt me? Is it a kinship of sorrow Brings thee anear me? Must thou forever be tongueless, Flying in fear of Tereus? Must he for Itys pursue thee, Changed to a lapwing? Tireless of pinion and never Resting on bush or the branches, Close to the earth, up the azure, Over the treetops; After thy wing in its madness Follows my glance, as a flitting Child on the track of its mother Hastens in silence. Daughter of Pandion, lovely Swallow that veers at my window, Hast thou a message from Cyprus Telling of Phaon? TIDINGS She wrapped herself in linen woven close, Stuffs delicate and texture-fine as those The dark Nile traders for our bartering From Egypt, Crete and far Phocea bring. Love lent her feet the wings of winds to reach (Whose steps stir not the shingle of the beach) My marble court and, breathless, bid me know My lover's sails across the harbor blow.