I stood where Love in brimming armfuls bore
Slight wanton
flowers and foolish toys of fruit:
And round him ladies
thronged in warm pursuit,
Fingered and lipped and proffered the strange
store.
And from one hand the petal and the core
Savoured of
sleep; and cluster and curled shoot
Seemed from another hand
like shame's salute,-
Gifts that I felt my cheek was blushing for.
At last Love bade my Lady give the same:
And as I looked,
the dew was light thereon;
And as I took them, at her touch
they shone
With inmost heaven-hue of the heart of flame.
And then Love
said: "Lo! when the hand is hers,
Follies of love are love's true
ministers."