Iii

God had been kinder to me,--when He dipped His hands in fires and snows And made you like a flower to ken, A flower that in Earth's garden grows,-- Had He, for pleasure or for pain, Instead of Death in that domain, Made Love the gardener to that rose, Your loveliness, O belle Heléne! God had been kinder to me then-- Me of all men, Ah, belle Heléne.