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He gives His Beloved Certain Rhymes
| Fasten your hair with a golden pin, | | And bind up every wandering tress; | | I bade my heart build these
poor rhymes: | | It worked at them, day out, day in, | | Building a sorrowful loveliness | | Out of the battles of old
times. | | | | | | You need but lift a pearl-pale hand, | | And bind up your long hair and sigh; | | And all men’s hearts
must burn and beat; | | And candle-like foam on the dim sand, | | And stars climbing the dew-dropping sky, | | Live but to light your passing feet. |
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By PanEris
using Melati.
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