Muna Lee

From “Songs of Many Moods”

I

MY dreams of you are sombre in the twilight

As a hedge of bramble growing interlaced—

A straggling little hedge with scarlet berries,

Sharp to the touch, and bitter to the taste.

This is my wrong to you, O man that I love—

I who had all to give

And would have held back naught thereof,

I whom love taught to live,

When you asked for a loaf of my baking,

And a bit of blossomy spray,

Gave only these for your taking,

And hid the rest away.