YOU HAVE taken a bath in the dark sea. You are once again veiled in a bride's robe, and through death's arch you come back to repeat our wedding in the soul. Neither lute nor drum is struck, no crowd has gathered, not a wreath is hung on the gate. Your unuttered words meet mine in a ritual unillumined by lamps.
THY GIFT OF THE earliest flower came to me this morning, and came the faint tuning of thy light. I am a bee that has wallowed in the heart of thy golden dawn, My wings are radiant with its pollen. I have found my place in the feast of songs in thy April, and I am freed of my fetters like the morning of its mist in a mere play.
