Go, Heliotrope,
Unto my Sweet and tell
How, like a harbinger of hope,
You come to dwell
Near her, and pray to rest
Upon her breast.
Tell her for me
In whispers of perfume,
How like the golden sun is she,
To which your bloom
Forever turns its face
Beseeching grace.
Say, even so
The blossom of my love
Looks from its land of doubt below
To her above,
Waiting one word to slip
Her scarlet lip.
Then if you feel
Her heart with joy beat fast,
Or if with one sweet kiss she seal
Your lips at last,
And leave you stricken dumb
Until I come:
Seeing you there
Upon her bosom, I
Shall know what answer to my prayer
She makes, and lie
Beside you dumb with bliss,
Sealed by her kiss.