 | Wild honey from various thyme |  |
2
CHARICLO
I
She cannot play the lyre,This child of Apollo:
She is mute: she loves sweet-smelling things;
She loves to break
The sweet-fern shoot, and the myrtle-root;
And she will track
The centaurs at trot down the hollow.
II
She is safe on his breast,This child of Apollo;
She has no fear; she loves divineness;
Cheiron is shag;
A front like a rock; she loves the shock,
And twines her arms
Round his neck, in the rock-side hollow.
3
III
She is free at her heart,This child of Apollo:
She lies down simple in her whiteness
As a waterfall
In its torrent-bed; she feels his head
Bent over her
As a down-bent fir in the hollow.
IV
She is quick and meek of sense,This child of Apollo:
She knows when breath has a cry, a pain;
And when breath must die—
She loves to give ease; she has watched the bees
Sing up the rocks,
And then fill with honey the hollow.
| Wild honey from various thyme | |