CROCUS SONG

The first flame, the first spear of the spring,

A thing perfected of the dews and fire,

Saffron in hoar-frost, brightened as with wine:

Thou blossoming in the heart of me!

Ah, golden

Is she whose love hath led me through the world

A thing of dews and fire, of wine and saffron!

Gray willows veiling my beloved

Bend above her,

As though you would love her,

Now clear water shadoweth her whiteness.

Ere brown bees go abroad murmuring,

One saffron crocus hath made glad desire,

To follow on swift feet slim feet of thine;

Love wakening for joy of thee,

Beholden

As golden petals of one flower unfurled,

Brimmed up with dews and fire, with wine and saffron.

Clear waters shadowing her whiteness

Flow beside her,

As tho’ you would hide her,

Jealous that mine eyes have my beloved.