Iii

All, all is sweet in that commingled draught Mysterious, that life pours for lovers' thirst, And I would meet your passion as the first Wild woodland woman met her captor's craft, Or as the Greek whose fearless beauty laughed And doffed her raiment by the Attic flood; But in the streams of my belated blood Flow all the warring potions love has quaffed.

How can I be to you the nymph who danced Smooth by Ilissus as the plane-tree's bole, Or how the Nereid whose drenched lashes glanced Like sea-flowers through the summer sea's long roll-- I that have also been the nun entranced Who night-long held her Bridegroom in her soul?