Mathilde Blind

* * *

You make the sunshine of my heart
    And its tempestuous shower;
Sometimes the thought of you is like
    A lilac bush in flower,
Yea, honey-sweet as hives in May.
And then the pang of it will strike
My bosom with a fiery smart,
As though love's deeply planted dart
    Drained all its life away.

My thoughts hum round you, Dear, like bees
    About a bank of thyme,
Or round the yellow blossoms of
    The heavy-scented lime.
Ah, sweeter you than honeydew,
    Yet dark the ways of love,
For it has robbed my soul of peace,
And marred my life and turned heart's-ease
    Into funereal rue.