Ballade Of Old Perfumes

Now out of dream old springs Flow soft with many red And golden fluttering things. Sweetly from underhead All the wan air is fed With faint rememberings Of hours long buried. Rose-rumours steal and stir; They come on wind-like wings. The old odours that were Nard and mint and myrrh.

I think that as there clings Colour to blossoms shed, So love and all that sings, So hearts that beat and bled Were with old fragrance wed. Now when the garden flings On many a secret thread Sweets to the wanderer, Some buried witch-bell rings The old odours that were Nard and mint and myrrh.

Envoy

Spring, let me lay my head Where the wild season sings Some dead girl’s heart from her. O young heart, ages dead, Old odours thrill mute strings. The old odours that were Nard and mint and myrrh.