To nourish my heart's crop

For the scythe of barrenness to reap.

[11]

[11]

7

Ah! pale cool lips that burn,

Body that yields, though unyielding,

Oh, moon with the heat of the sun!

Flashing out a million lights

To cleave into nothing the endless firmament of my being.

Take all; my soul's mistress! heart's queen,

The flaming fancies of my dream-tortured night

The intoxicating fruits of my day dream,

The fiery lotus of my senses' delight

That rises from the abyss of my life.

The abysmal heaven of love and living

Now bruised, burnt, torn and thrown

To the winds of thy ravishing rejoicing

Whose inarticulate words of delight and moan

Make the ever-yielding music of my soul.

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