Absence
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y cup is empty to-night,Cold and dry are its sides,Chilled by the wind from the open window.Empty and void, it sparkles white in the moonlight.The room is filled with the strange scentOf wistaria blossoms.They sway in the moon's radianceAnd tap against the wall.But the cup of my heart is still,And cold, and empty. When you come, it brimsRed and trembling with blood,Heart's blood for your drinking;To fill your mouth with loveAnd the bitter-sweet taste of a soul. A Gift See! I give myself to you, Beloved!My words are little jarsFor you to take and put upon a shelf.Their shapes are quaint and beautiful,And they have many pleasant colours and lustresTo recommend them.Also the scent from them fills the roomWith sweetness of flowers and crushed grasses. When I shall have given you the last one,You will have the whole of me,But I shall be dead.
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