O flowers, did you see my love ? O bulbuls,
Won't you help me find where he has gone ?

Seeking him among flowers, I asked the yemberzals
If he who had charmed me had now come to visit them.

The excited pomegranate blossoms flushed the garden red -
Their flaming colour a symbol of my new-born fire of love !

O come to me on the pretext of visiting flowers -
It won't be a lie, for you will make my garden bloom !

How would he know how I nursed love's agony ?
A love-lore heart lay languishing in silence !

O flame of living love,
That dost eternally
Pierce through my soul with so consuming heat,
Since there's no help above,
Make thou an end of me,
And break the bond of this encounter sweet.

O burn that burns to heal!
O more than pleasant wound!
And O soft hand, O touch most delicate,
That dost new life reveal,
That dost in grace abound,
And, slaying, dost from death to life translate!

O lamps of fire that shined
With so intense a light,
That those deep caverns where the senses live,
Which were obscure and blind,

O cool is the valley now
And there, love, will we go
For many a choir is singing now
Where Love did sometime go.
And hear you not the thrushes calling,
Calling us away?
O cool and pleasant is the valley
And there, love, will we stay.

O beautiful sun wearer,
with the sun in thy crest!
Come and meet me,
come and meet me,
Meet me to day,
and greet me with a kiss;
Thy love is all my life.
In the name of thy beautiful, beatific vision,
Come to me,
my love! Come to me!

Now what is Love, I pray thee, tell?
It is that fountain and that well
Where pleasure and repentance dwell;
It is, perhaps, the sauncing bell
That tolls all into heaven or hell;
And this is Love, as I hear tell.

Yet what is Love, I prithee, say?
It is a work on holiday,
It is December matched with May,
When lusty bloods in fresh array
Hear ten months after of the play;
And this is Love, as I hear say.

Yet what is Love, good shepherd, sain?
It is a sunshine mixed with rain,
It is a toothache or like pain,

Now that I have won
Long despaired of peace,
And those fears are flown
That vext so my heart's ease;

Shall I wish my love
Had found a path more smooth,
With no thorns to prove
Its constancy and truth?

Wish those nights not spent,
Long, unhappy nights,
Which in sighings went
Over lost delights?

Wish those tears unwept,
When you seemed unkind?
Nay; for these pangs kept
Love steadfast in my mind.

Out of these he came
Stronger, tenderer; tried
As with burning flame;
Proved and purified.

Now all the lovely days are past,
The hours of sun and leagues of sea,
And starry nights that lay between
Yourself and me.
Our boat has left the sea behind.
She lies beside the friendly dock.
And soon the gangway will go down,
And lips will meet, and hands will lock,
And carriers will come climbing up
To take my things and leave us free.
There's trams and streets and home at last
For you and me.

Not speaking of the way,
Not thinking of what comes after,
Not questioning name or fame,
Here, loving love,
You and I look at each other.

This is not Love, perhaps,
Love that lays down its life,
that many waters cannot quench,
nor the floods drown,
But something written in lighter ink,
said in a lower tone, something, perhaps, especially our own.

A need, at times, to be together and talk,
And then the finding we can walk
More firmly through dark narrow places,
And meet more easily nightmare faces;
A need to reach out, sometimes, hand to hand,
And then find Earth less like an alien land;
A need for alliance to defeat

I HAVE not yet I could have loved thee, sweet;
Nor know I wherefore, thou being all thou art,
The engrafted thought in me throve incomplete,

And grew to summer strength in every part
Of root and leaf, but hath not borne the flower.
Love hath refrained his fullness from my heart.

I know no better beauty, none with power
To hold mine eyes through change and change as thine,
Like southern skies that alter with each hour,

And yet are changeless, and their calm divine
From light to light hath motionlessly passed,