At Dawn and Dusk

Neæra’s Wreath

Victor James Daley

NEÆRA crowns me with a purple wreath
    That she with her own dainty hands did twine;
Gold-hearted blossoms and blue buds in sheath,
    Mingled with veined green leaves of the wild vine.

Then, bending down her bright head—ah, too nigh!—
    She asks me for a song: the daylight dies:
The song is still unwritten: still I lie
    Watching the purple twilight of her eyes.

I am her laureate; therefore heart of grace
    I take to kiss her. Where was song like this?
Love is best sung of in a loveless place,
    For who would care to sing where he might kiss?

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