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Fatima

by
 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 daled 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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