Tryst

Somewhere thou awaitest, And I, with lips unkissed, Weep that thus to latest Thou puttest off our tryst! The golden bowls are broken, The silver cords untwine; Almond flowers in token Have bloomed,---that I am thine! Others who would fly thee In cowardly alarms, Who hate thee and deny thee, Thou foldest in thine arms! How shall I entreat thee No longer to withhold? I dare not go to meet thee, O lover, far and cold! O lover, whose lips chilling So many lips have kissed, Come, even if unwilling, And keep thy solemn tryst!