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Fatima

         
      O Love, Love, Love! O withering might!
      O sun, that from thy noonday height
      Shudderest when I strain my sight,
      Throbbing thro’ all thy heat and light,
         Lo, falling from my constant mind,
         Lo, parch’d and wither’d, deaf and blind,
         I whirl like leaves in roaring wind.

       
      Last night I wasted hateful hours
      Below the city’s eastern towers:
      I thirsted for the brooks, the showers:
      I roll’d among the tender flowers:
         I crush’d them on my breast, my mouth;
         I look’d athwart the burning drouth
         Of that long desert to the south.

       
      Last night, when some one spoke his name,
      From my swift blood that went and came
      A thousand little shafts of flame
      Were shiver’d in my narrow frame.
         O Love, O fire! once he drew
         With one long kiss my whole soul thro’
         My lips, as sunlight drinketh dew.

       
      Before he mounts the hill, I know
      He cometh quickly: from below
      Sweet gales, as from deep gardens, blow
      Before him, striking on my brow.
         In my dry brain my spirit soon,
         Down-deepening from swoon to swoon,
         Faints like a dazzled morning moon.

       
      The wind sounds like a silver wire,
      And from beyond the noon a fire
      Is pour’d upon the hills, and nigher
      The skies stoop down in their desire;
         And, isled in sudden seas of light,
         My heart, pierced thro’ with fierce delight,
         Bursts into blossom in his sight.

       
      My whole soul waiting silently,
      All naked in a sultry sky,
      Droops blinded with his shining eye:
      I will possess him or will die.
         I will grow round him in his place,
         Grow, live, die looking on his face,
         Die, dying clasp’d in his embrace.
       


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