Fair flower of fifteen springs, that still
Art scarcely blossomed from the bud,
Yet hast such store of evil will,
...
Hide this one night thy crescent, kindly Moon;
So shall Endymion faithful prove, and rest
Loving and unawakened on thy breast;
...
When you are very old, at evening
You’ll sit and spin beside the fire, and say,
Humming my songs, ‘Ah well, ah well-a-day!
...
If to love, Madam, is to dream and long
and brood by day and night on means of pleasing you,
...
I send you here a wreath of blossoms blown,
And woven flowers at sunset gathered,
Another dawn had seen them ruined, and shed
...
See, Mignonne, hath not the Rose,
That this morning did unclose
...
A hundred times I wish I could transform myself
And become an invisible spirit that hides inside your heart
And seeks to comprehend your scorn
...
As in the gardens, all through May, the rose,
Lovely, and young, and fair apparelled,
Makes sunrise jealous of her rosy red,
...
All take these lips away; no more,
No more such kisses give to me.
My spirit faints for joy; I see
...
Twain that were foes, while Mary lived, are fled;
One laurel-crowned abides in heaven, and one
Beneath the earth has fared, a fallen sun,
...