[XIII The flowers have their bold bees to woo them]
The flowers have their bold bees to woo them;
The brooks have their fresh rains to feed them;
The nights have their stars to o'erstrew them;
The dawns have their pure dews to bead them:
Yet my steps go darkling,
With but the dim sparkling
Of memory's lamp, love, to lead them!
The sea hath its waves to make sheen with;
The winds have their music to sigh with;
The groves have their boughs to be green with;
The birds have their fleet wings to fly with:
But I, in my lonely
Allegiance, have only
This deep-wounded heart, love, to die with!
