Edmund Pollard + 

I would I had thrust my hands of flesh + 

Into the disk-flowers bee-infested, + 

Into the mirror-like core of fire + 

Of the light of life, the sun of delight. + 

For what are anthers worth or petals + 

Or halo-rays? Mockeries, shadows + 

Of the heart of the flower, the central flame + 

All is yours, young passer-by; + 

Enter the banquet room with the thought; + 

Don’t sidle in as if you were doubtful + 

Whether you’re welcome⁠—the feast is yours! + 

Nor take but a little, refusing more + 

With a bashful “Thank you,” when you’re hungry. + 

Is your soul alive? Then let it feed! + 

Leave no balconies where you can climb; + 

Nor milk-white bosoms where you can rest; + 

Nor golden heads with pillows to share; + 

Nor wine cups while the wine is sweet; + 

Nor ecstasies of body or soul, + 

You will die, no doubt, but die while living + 

In depths of azure, rapt and mated, + 

Kissing the queen-bee, Life! + 