And the west was black with showers,
My Beloved came by,
With his hands full of flowers---
Red burning flowers,
Like flame that pulsed and throbbed---
And beyond in the rain smitten bowers,
The turtle-dove sobbed....
...(The voice of the turtle-dove--
"How shall my heart be fed
with pleasant apples of love,
When the wintertime has fled,
the rain and the winter fled,
How all His gifts shall grace me,
When His Left Hand is under my head,
And His Right Hand doth embrace me.")
May Probyn
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