Nossis

I thought to hear him speakthe girl might riseand make the garden silver,as the white moon breaks,“Nossis,” he cried, “a flame.”

I said:“a girl that’s deadsome hundred years;a poet--what of that?for in the islands,in the haunts of Greek Ionia,Rhodes and Cyprus,girls are cheap.”

I said, to test his mood,to make him rage or laugh or sing or weep,“in Greek Ionia and in Cyprus,many girls are foundwith wreaths and apple-branches.”

“Only a hundred years or two or three,has she lain deadyet men forget;”he said,“I want a garden,”and I thoughthe wished to make a terrace on the hill,bend the stream to it,set out daffodils,plant Phrygian violets,such was his will and whim,I thought,to name and watch each flower.

His was no gardenbright with Tyrian violets,his was a shelterwrought of flame and spirit,and as he flung her nameagainst the dark,I thought the iris-flowersthat lined the pathmust be the ghost of Nossis.

“Who made the wreath,for what man was it wrought?speak, fashioned all of fruit-buds,song, my loveliest,say Meleager brought to Diodes,(a gift for that enchanting friend)memories with names of poets.

He sought for Moero, lilies,and those many,red-lilies for Anyte,for Sappho, roses,with those few, he caughtthat breath of the sweet-scentedleaf of iris,the myrrh-iris,to set beside the tabletand the waxwhich Love had burnt,when scarred across by Nossis.”

“I Nossis stand by this:I state that love is sweet:if you think otherwiseassert what beautyor what charmafter the charm of love,retains its grace?

“Honey” you say:honey? I say “I spithoney out of my mouth:nothing is second-bestafter the sweet of Eros.”

I Nossis stand and statethat he whom Love neglectshas naught, no flower, no grace,who lacks that rose, her kiss.”

I thought to hear him speakthe girl might riseand make the garden silveras the white moon breaks,“Nossis,” he cried, “a flame.”