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?