Love in jeopardy

Love in jeopardy


Here by the rose-tree
they planted once
of Love in jeopardy
an Italian bronze.

Not love the conqueror,
not love with wings,
but a boy waiting for
perilous things:

his bow unstrung,
unsounded the zither,
and the delicate young
hands clasped together.

As grave as the first
boy with the first maiden,
outside of the curst
closed gates of Eden.

But they have ravished
away this love,
and he is not cherished
nor spoken of,

save, whenas fluted
from Eden, blows
for two the transmuted
phrase of the rose,

thorn-note, blossom-note,
note of the petal,
cool as the rain, but
trembling a little

as though, brought hither
from far, one sung
to a mute zither,
with bow unstrung,

how by a rose-tree
they planted once
of Love in Jeopardy
an Italian bronze.