Thy voice is softer than the throstle's call,
There is not song enough to sing thy praise,
O flower of all!
O flower of all the years, O flower of all,
I seek thee in thy garden, and I dare
To love thee; and though my deserts be small,
Thou art the only flower I would wear,
O flower of all!
WAS IT SOME GOLDEN STAR?
Once in another land,
Ages ago,
You were a queen, and I,
I loved you so:
Where was it that we loved--
Ah, do you know?
Was it some golden star
Hot with romance?
Was it in Malabar,
Italy, France?
Did we know Charlemagne,
Dido, perchance?
But you were a queen, and I
Fought for you then:
How did you honour me--
More than all men!
Kissed me upon the lips;
Kiss me again.
Have you forgotten it,
All that we said?
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