Beloved
I was a garden once,
And you, the rose that taught the thorns to sing.
Your fragrance clothed the morning in wonder,
Your absence clothed my soul in flame.
What shall I do with spring now?
Its blossoms mock me with their laughter.
The nightingale calls your name in every hush,
And I, poor wanderer of memory,
Bleed silence beneath the moon.
If another should behold your face,
Let my eyes become a river of fire.
What worth has sight, when it beholds not you?
I have drunk of your remembrance till my veins are wine,
And still, thirst gnaws upon my heart.
The stars burn like your gaze unreturned,
The heavens sway with your shadow’s grace.
I would trade a thousand dawns,
And the empire of all men’s dreams,
For the whisper of your breath
Upon the ashes of my name.
Beloved,
If love is torment, I have known paradise.
If love is death, let me die unending,
So that in each birth,
I may lose you once more.
