Were the blossom plucked
And the wind breathed
Upon the air of luck
To give cautious ease
And the sun lit
To shine the morrow over
That sin be weaned from tit
And buried beneath the clover
Yet take the stem and the flame
To conjoin them as one
Not to any creature mane
But to let love run
Like a creek whispering in the haloed dawn
Dance swift down crest and hill
Alongside the lonely fawn
To meet the lips that sweetly trills
That which is beauties breast
That winged being who angelically sings
To give fire to peaceful rest
And the flaming stem gleam
Yet though those coals toss
And joy in eyes reign
It seems that pleasure is lost
For man is so profane.