Now listen to me, my Lover; is there love as sweet as love this?
Then lo! wither thou art, there in that far wall
a single flower is frozen, and through the hole is a voice.
See her pretty breast, whereon there kisses I beat,
till from the wall I hear her song on the steps.
Is it I?—no, but it’s my own.
I have never known thy love;
I have never said that I loved thee;
But now the walls that kept her apart
have let me in, and I can say it.
At the sight of it all
the tender thoughts of love
of that sad flower
Come and they tread
Upon the blooming thoughts of me.
Now I hold the flower,
and play with her rosy lips;
I kiss the blade of thorns,
I seize the stem,
and press my lips against the petal.
It is not my flower, it is not my love;
It is but her sadness and her grief.
I hold it and let it go.
We are equal in tears:
And this sad flower
When it is once freed
Shall come and say
How sad she was!
Again I kiss her stem,
And pass from the courtyard.
And then shall I knell.
:: 07.05.2022 ::