THE LEMON-TREE

Last night, last night, a vision of you

Sweetly troubled my waking dream:

Beneath the clear Algerian blue

You stood with lifted eyes: the beam

Of a winter sun beat on the crown

Of a lemon-tree, whose delicate fruit

Like pale lamps hung airily down;

And in your gazing eyes a mute

And lovely wonder.... Have I sung

Of slender things and naught beside?

You were so beautifully young

I must have kissed you or have died.