58
Soft my breath doth pass
Soft as April airs;
Jasmine-sweet the grass
Springeth from my tears.
Desert tulip glows
With the blood I shed
As in beaker shews
Wine all ruby-red.
Soareth so my flight
O’er the highest sphere
That the souls of light
Seek to trap me there.
Labours ever new
Make man’s dust to glow;
Moon and star still do
As long time ago.
My self’s lamp I lit,
Now that Moses’ hand
Men have hidden it
‘Neath the wristlet-band.
Come, O come to prayer;
Court no prince’s door:
So our fathers were
When the world was poor.