Goddess of love, thy
silken gaze befriend her;
and give to your blushing daughter
fruit of your vine, and such grace
extend her
as to disclose in all
things small
her daily provender.
Trickster of time, least
can you stall
such sweet surrender as
will admit her lightest fall, fresh
through your
raking tines, into
love’s garden
and heart’s own lavender.
Tender-lipped night, bending
with upland dew
upon the sweet germander,
Well keep her hid there
against the darkened
moor, where pleasures leap
not out upon
the common traveler.