VI
Norose that in a garden ever grew,In Homer’s or in Omar’s or in mine,Though buried under centuries of fineDead dust of roses, shut from sun and dewForever, and forever lost from view,But must again in fragrance rich as wineThe grey aisles of the air incarnadineWhen the old summers surge into a new.Thus when I swear, “I love with all my heart,”’Tis with the heart of Lilith that I swear,’Tis with the love of Lesbia and Lucrece;And thus as well my love must lose some partOf what it is, had Helen been less fair,Or perished young, or stayed at home in Greece.
Norose that in a garden ever grew,In Homer’s or in Omar’s or in mine,Though buried under centuries of fineDead dust of roses, shut from sun and dewForever, and forever lost from view,But must again in fragrance rich as wineThe grey aisles of the air incarnadineWhen the old summers surge into a new.Thus when I swear, “I love with all my heart,”’Tis with the heart of Lilith that I swear,’Tis with the love of Lesbia and Lucrece;And thus as well my love must lose some partOf what it is, had Helen been less fair,Or perished young, or stayed at home in Greece.
Norose that in a garden ever grew,In Homer’s or in Omar’s or in mine,Though buried under centuries of fineDead dust of roses, shut from sun and dewForever, and forever lost from view,But must again in fragrance rich as wineThe grey aisles of the air incarnadineWhen the old summers surge into a new.Thus when I swear, “I love with all my heart,”’Tis with the heart of Lilith that I swear,’Tis with the love of Lesbia and Lucrece;And thus as well my love must lose some partOf what it is, had Helen been less fair,Or perished young, or stayed at home in Greece.