Philomel

Philomel in my garden, Messenger sweet of springtide, From the bough of the olive tree utter Tidings ecstatic.

Linger long on thy olden Note as in days remembered; Ere the Boatman that knew Aphrodite Ravished my vision.

Fatal glamor of beauty, Beauty of Gods made mortal; Ah, before its delight I am ever Fearful of heaven.

Spring in breeze and the blossom, Grasses and leaves and odors, On my heart with the breath of a vanished April is shaken;

Shaken with thrill and regret of Lost caresses and kisses; Anactoria’s memory, Atthis Never forgotten.

Philomel in my garden, Messenger sweet of springtide, From the bough of the olive tree utter Tidings ecstatic.