Valentine

Valentine

By Elinor Wylie


Too high, too high to pluck

My heart shall swing.

A fruit no bee shall suck,

No wasp shall sting.

If on some night of cold

It falls to ground

In apple-leaves of gold

I’ll wrap it round.



And I shall seal it up

With spice and salt,

In a carven silver cup,

In a deep vault.




Before my eyes are blind

And my lips mute,

I must eat core and rind

Of that same fruit.




Before my heart is dust

At the end of all,

Eat it I must, I must

Were it bitter gall.

But I shall keep it sweet

By some strange art;

Wild honey I shall eat

When I eat my heart.




O honey cool and chaste

As clover’s breath!

Sweet Heaven I shall taste

Before my death.