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,
Gra**es 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.