I.
Unto her fragrant face and hair,--
As some wild bee unto a rose,
That blooms in splendid beauty there
Within the South,--my longing goes:
My longing, that is over fain
To call her mine, but all in vain;
Since jealous Death, as each one knows,
Is guardian of La belle Heléne;
Of her whose face is very fair--
To my despair,
Sweet belle Heléne.
II.
The sweetness of her face suggests
The sensuous scented Jacqueminots;
Magnolia blooms her throat and breasts;
Her hands long lilies in repose:
Fair flowers all without a stain,
That grow for Death to pluck again,
Within that garden's radiant close,
The body of La belle Heléne;
The garden glad that she suggests,--
That Death invests.
Sweet belle Heléne.
III.
God had been kinder to me,--when
He dipped His hands in fires and snows
And made you like a flow'r to ken,
A flow'r that in Earth's garden grows,--
Had He, for pleasure or for pain,
Instead of Death in that demesne,
Made Love the gardener to that rose,
Your loveliness, O belle Heléne;
God had been kinder to me then--
And to all men,
Sweet belle Heléne.
