28.10.2007, 15:56
THE TRIUMPH OF LOVE.
AH Love, dear Love. In vain I scoff. In vain
I ply my barren wit, and jest at thee.
Thou heedest not, or dost forgive the pain,
And in thy own good time and thy own way,
Waiting my silence, thou dost vanquish me.
Thou comest at thy will in sun or rain
And at the hour appointed, a spring day,
An autumn night and lo, I serve again.
Forgive me, touch me, chide me. What to thee,
God that thou art, are these vain shifts of mine ?
Let me but know thee. Thou alone art wise.
I ask not to be wise or great or free
Or aught but at thy knees and wholly thine,
Thus, and to feel thy hand upon mine eyes.
AH Love, dear Love. In vain I scoff. In vain
I ply my barren wit, and jest at thee.
Thou heedest not, or dost forgive the pain,
And in thy own good time and thy own way,
Waiting my silence, thou dost vanquish me.
Thou comest at thy will in sun or rain
And at the hour appointed, a spring day,
An autumn night and lo, I serve again.
Forgive me, touch me, chide me. What to thee,
God that thou art, are these vain shifts of mine ?
Let me but know thee. Thou alone art wise.
I ask not to be wise or great or free
Or aught but at thy knees and wholly thine,
Thus, and to feel thy hand upon mine eyes.