Faithful I be or not to thy soul-call, Yet thou awaitest at my door, In winter's spotless white, or summer's Gold-green-crimson garb; Ever smiling thy lips, tearfully sweet thine eyes! Constancy — ah! how vain a word! Too little like a star to contain all of night's majesty! What shall I name thy love, O goddess? Deep in my dark heart I moan for nothing, Shed tears for what can not be, Like the unwished-for rain of summer, that weeps uselessly. Cruelly I lie, I lie hidden, While thou waitest for me through an eternity Of heart-breaking expectancy: At last I come, mine eye hath seen thy glory, Thy rose-red, love-kindling lips, Thine eyes, dark like the heart of night, Two homes of immortal mystery. I come, contrite, weeping, forgiven; Let my lips kiss thy dove-like feet, My heart's perfume pour I on them, And my soul set to song Thy song, endless song, from earth to heaven Like a sky-rover's at dawn. |