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| IN time of hunger and drought Love is glad, | |
| For Love is food, and wine, and fire. | |
| The eyes of love are gentle as the doves’, | |
| The face of Love fairer than flowers is. | |
| Her breasts make challenge mutely for caresses, | 5 |
| Her loins are hollowed for her lover’s rest, | |
| Her hands make new life spring beneath their touch, | |
| Her lips are velvet-smooth and made for kisses. | |
| Her hair like golden serpents writhes about | |
| Down o’er her flanks, a soft and shining shower. | 10 |
| Her eyes are pools where violets are drowned, | |
| Her voice is music, and her mind is wisdom. | |
| Her odor is a heaven-sweet perfume, | |
| Sweeter than woods in spring or summer gardens. | |
| The tired rest themselves against her heart; | 15 |
| The feast of a thousand vineyards is hers | |
| And the flowers wherewith she decks herself | |
| Shall never die—shall never die. | |
| The gardens of God have their seasons— | |
| Flowerless and fruitless half the year; | 20 |
| But the gardens of Love are everlasting— | |
| Their flowers and fruit are eternal. | |
| The strong man’s power is but for a day; | |
| When it goes, ’tis but as a tale that’s told. | |
| But the power of Love is mightier than the sword’s | 25 |
| And it stays while life does. | |
| Riches come hardly and go swiftly, leaving nothing; | |
| But Love comes early and abides forever. | |
| A blossom-decked altar is the bed of Love, | |
| Her festivals the sacraments of life. | 30 |
| The song of songs is the song of Love— | |
| Ever sung, yet never ending; | |
| The song of Love is the song of life. | |
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