TAKE from an urn my vow and salutation
Unto the land I never now shall see:
Laid here exiled, my heart in desolation
Frets like a child against her breast to be.
Far from the sky, a rose that opes at even
(One liquid star for dewdrop on the rose),
Far from the shower that nesting low in heaven
Thrice in an hour light-wingèd comes and goes,
Far from my lost and blessèd and belovèd
Nightfall of June beside the Rhodian wave,
Mine is the pain another isle to covet,
Though all in vain, for gardener of my grave.