Classic Poem

I had many things to bring you, ambergris and cinnamon,
Couched in ebon coffers or in ivory divine:
Rounded fruits and grapes in clusters, grapes to make you wine,
Colored like the midnight and tasting of the sun.

Here I come, and here my gifts are. I lay them at your feet.
Spotted fruit and bitter fox-grapes, plundered by the rain
They are all my garden proffers, and I shall not go again
To the spring-delighted gardens where our ways were wont to meet.

I had many things to give you — cinnabar and cassia,
And such fruits as round and ripen in the sunnier air.
I had many songs to sing you — but I know not what they were;
Here my gifts are — take or leave them — for I go another way.