A Honeycomb

Like me — damask roses; and like you — jasmine;
and after us your little gardens will wither!
And your neighbor's bees, the ones all humming —
it is your mouth that calls them, not your roses.

Come with me! Come, I'll gather you armfuls of roses,
I'll embroider you dresses to the moon's own taste,
I'll pick you necklaces from the white lilies —
in their shade I dream of your beauty, and of magic.

Come! This tender rose will soon turn yellow,
and our bees will shut themselves inside the hive...
O loveliest of the lovely! How shall we buy
honey tomorrow, to keep the Great Feast?...