The Investiture

WE will walk by the grating of the park,
When the Great Bear is growing dark,
And, as I wish it, you will wear
Among the ribbons of your hair
The flower called asphodel.

Your eyes in mine will be shining,
When the Great Bear is declining.--
And mine eyes will have the rays
Of the flower called asphodel.

Your eyes into mine will gaze,
And all my being shall with such
A wavering shake as fables tell
The mythic rock felt at the touch
Of the flower called asphodel.