Wild honey from various thyme :: :: University of Virginia Library

This fall as of a cloud that leaves the height
And hangs moist darkness on the meadows fair,
This perfume that is trackless on the air,
Are not of spring: the dead who mourn their plight
Speak through this muffled pressure on the light;
The dead athirst for their old tears are there,
The dead who would return to us, and bear
Old age and grief, the pleasant fields in sight.
O infinite sorrow! With desire they call
For their mortality; and haunt and pace
About the nestless trees: but one hath grace,
Being Prince of Life, to travel home to die:
Mortal, He bleeds, His loved ones standing by,
And blesses us with lips that taste the gall.