When late I viewed the gardens of rich men,
  Where throve my darling blossoms plenteously,
  With others whose rare glories dazed my ken,
  I was not teased with envious misery.
  Enough for me to see and recognize;
  Then bear away sweet names upon my tongue,
  Scents in my breath, and colours in my eyes.
  Their owners watch them die: I keep them young.
  But when more spacious pleasances I trod,
  And saw their thousand buds, but might not kiss
  Though loving like a lover, sire, and God,
  Sad was the yearning of my avarice.
  The rich man gives his parting guest one bloom,
  But God hath vouchsafed my meek longing---whom?