FROM Andalusian gardens I bring the rose and rue,And leaves of subtle odour,To weave a gift for you.
You'll know the reason wherefore The sad is with the sweet!
My flowers may lie,as I would,A carpet for your feet.
The heart -the heart is constant!
It holds its secret,Dear!
But often in the night time I keep awake for fear.
I have no hope to whisper,I have no prayer to send,God save you from such passion!
God help you from such end!
You first,you last,you false love!
In dreams your lips I kiss,And thus I greet your Shadow,"Take this,and this,and this!''
When dews are on the casement,And winds are in the pine,I have you close beside me -In sleep your mouth is mine.
I never see you elsewhere;
You never think of me;
But fired with fever for you Content I am to be.
You will not turn,my Darling,Nor answer when I call;But yours are soul are body And love of mine and all!
You splendid Spaniard!listen -
My passion leaps to flame For neck,and cheek,and dimple,And cunning shades of shame!
I tell you,I would gladly Give Hell myself to keep,To cling to,half a moment,The lips I taste in sleep.
