Sonnets and Songs — Flower of the Clove

_Flower of the Clove_ Ah, Love, have pity!

--I am but a child;

I ask but light and laughter, and the tears Darken the sunlight of my fairest years.

By love made desolate, by love beguiled, I waste the Spring.

Love's harvest wains are piled With poppies and gold grain--I glean but fears Of empty hands, grim hunger, and the jeers Of happy wives whose loves are reconciled.

But mine!

Ah, mine is like a tattered leaf Upon a turbid stream.

I have no pride, No life, but love, which is a bitter grief.

As a lost star I wander down your sky.

Give me your heart.

Open it wide--so wide!

I must have love and laughter, or I die.

V