I.
"Had I two loaves of bread—ay, ay!
One would I sell and hyacinths buy
To feed my soul."—"Or let me die!"
Beauty, dew-sweet, of heavenly birth,
Thy flower is writ of grief, not mirth,
Thy rainbow's footed on the earth.
Rainbows and hyacinths! O seers,
Your voices call across the years:
"The bread of Beauty's wet with tears!
II.
The living words from Beauty's mien,
Than blade by swordsman swung more keen,
Spirit and soul divide between:
"Pure as the sapphire-blue from blame,
Humble as glad, of holiest aim—
Love's seven-fold beam a flashing flame!"
III.
It yearns me sore, so near, so far!
My heart moans like the harbor-bar,
For coming of the morning star.
Buy hyacinths—a goodly share!
Ascend, O soul, love's iris-stair,
The bridegroom waiteth for thee there!