| I WOULD I had thrust my hands of flesh | |
| Into the disk-flowers bee-infested, | |
| Into the mirror-like core of fire | |
| Of the light of life, the sun of delight. | |
| For what are anthers worth or petals | 5 |
| Or halo-rays? Mockeries, shadows | |
| Of the heart of the flower, the central flame! | |
| All is yours, young passer-by; | |
| Enter the banquet room with the thought; | |
| Don’t sidle in as if you were doubtful | 10 |
| Whether you’re welcome—the feast is yours! | |
| Nor take but a little, refusing more | |
| With a bashful “Thank you,” when you’re hungry. | |
| Is your soul alive? Then let it feed! | |
| Leave no balconies where you can climb; | 15 |
| Nor milk-white bosoms where you can rest; | |
| Nor golden heads with pillows to share; | |
| Nor wine cups while the wine is sweet; | |
| Nor ecstasies of body or soul, | |
| You will die, no doubt, but die while living | 20 |
| In depths of azure, rapt and mated, | |
| Kissing the queen-bee, Life! | |
