text: Too high, too high to pluck
  My heart shall swing.
  A fruit no bee shall suck,
  No wasp shall sting.
  
  If on some night of cold
  It falls to ground
  In apple-leaves of gold
  Ill wrap it round.
  
  And I shall seal it up
  With spice and salt,
  In a carven silver cup,
  In a deep vault.
  
  Before my eyes are blind
  And my lips mute,
  I must eat core and rind
  Of that same fruit.
  
  Before my heart is dust
  At the end of all,
  Eat it I must, I must
  Were it bitter gall.
  
  But I shall keep it sweet
  By some strange art;
  Wild honey I shall eat
  When I eat my heart.
  
  O honey cool and chaste
  As clovers breath!
  Sweet Heaven I shall taste
  Before my death.