Valentine

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.