Garden of Sacred Idylls

Shines out from the open cave of your mouth,
As much as the white-toothed ones of Gilead,
Washed in a clear stream, shine back.
Flowers are painted on your Gnidian a reference to Cnidus, city of Venus lip,
And your tongue is moist with Hyblaean famous for honey, from Sicily nectar.
Your cheeks are painted with Tyrian purple dye blood,
And with that color the apple smiles,
Whose side is open and reddening.
As the Davidic fortress rises, bound round
With the spoils of arms and the threats of the wall:
So you lift your snowy column of a neck.
You are all beautiful, from head to foot beautiful
You are all, nor are you marked by any blemish.
I burn in my inmost marrow, Sister,
When I see the twin torches of your brow,
And the necklace hanging on your shining neck.
What the divine liquid of pure wine smells of,
What the honeycomb of Attica and thyme smell of,
This you breathe, Sister, from your bounteous breast,
This your soft cloaks smell of.
You are nard to me, you are crocus, you are the Sabaean
Incense, you are the healthful rosemary,
And why do I labor to pursue each one,
When one word can encompass all?
You are a Closed Garden to me, from which
Flows pure pleasure from a perennial fountain.