In a Mirtle Shade

my lovely mirtle tree?
Love, free love, cannot be bound
to any tree that grows on ground
Oh how sick and weary I underneath my mirtle lie.
like the dung upon the ground,
underneath my mirtle bound
Oft my mirtle signed in vain,
to behold my heavy chain
Oft my father saw us sigh,
and laughed at our simplicity
So I smote him. and his gore
stained the roots my mirtle bore;
but the time of youth is fled,
and grey hairs are on my head
Drive your cart and your plow over the bones of the dead
The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom