Your very loving

Your very loving Daughter.

All days were night before this day's dear prime, Dust in Time's hand or strewn about his feet, Ashes of morning, suns and moons outworn. Now we have back our heritage of Time. Heaven rounds us like a shell, and very sweet Sea-voices breathe, Belovéd, it is morn.

The little doves go up and down in showers, Over the spice bud, underneath the bough, Till I grow weary, counting little doves Swift as our thoughts and feathered like our flowers. Dearest of all, lean nearer, kiss me now. God has no need of pity on their loves.

The loveliest ladies ever felt the wind Blow on them from the doorsills of delight Should stoop to me and give me sisterhood,— She that was Star of Egypt out of mind, And one world's rose, and one who led her knight Weeping about the hollows of the wood.

There was an altar builded in the sun By shipmen out of Argos, long ago, Bound in bleak bronze and every stone engraven With wings and faces, and each face was one, Helen's. And there they fed a flame, to show Poor mariners the sea-ways of the haven.

O Love, be very silent. Death will hear. Helen was proud, she laughed her love and glory When Paris leaned and kissed her on the lips. She had another lover that was near. He kissed her, and she changed into a story, A half-heard song blown out to wandering ships.

I am Love's weakest, worthless, lost, unwise. Cities were taken, kings uncrowned for her, A thousand blades had blossom on her mouth, A thousand spears were hid in her great eyes. Over me too the little grasshopper Shall chirr against the honey-breathing south.

Love, that has raised you higher, casts me down From my proud places and remembered praise, Though still a half-hushed worshipper you sit, Though still you kneel as if I wore a crown; O Love, I love you most for these great ways Of worship, while I am unworthy it.

Yea, could I grieve you, could I make you weep, I have crowned you, wronged you, cast aside Most cruelly for your sake my griefs and fears? If you leaned closer on the kiss of sleep And saw that in some silence I had died Dreaming of you, O would you give me tears?

"Rise up, my love, my fair one, come away, My love, my dove, my sister, undefiled." I rose, I followed, but my friend was fled, Though once I saw him through the morning's gray And the last starshine, where he turned and smiled, With amaranth newly bound upon his head.

"Woman, behold thy child, for it is Grief, Sword-slender grief, the world within her hold. Give her thy heart, be true to one another." The voice endured the dropping of a leaf. Then for so long I heard as when a gold Ripe apple falls, "O Grief, behold your mother."

O Love, forgive. They know not what they do, Dealing their little coin of scorn or shame. I have seen into heaven, and all the floor White with our thoughts, as fields are white with dew, Light as young linnets, in a laughing flame, They beat forever round God's open door.

My Love, my Love, hast Thou forsaken me? Hyssop I gave you not, nor scourge, nor scars, While any rose was left of summer's loss, While any sail flowered white along the sea. Now the sea darkens, and the angry stars Born of that bitter water, are a cross.

I thirst, I thirst, though many waters hide me Drowning in depths where Love will never seek. There were three waves that broke on me. The first Was salt as tears, the second rose beside me In foam of fire, the third against my cheek Touched like a kiss. My heart aches, and I thirst.

Today we were with Love in Paradise A little while, and for that while the shade Stood waiting, and a-wing the swallow slept. But angels came with anger of bright eyes And thrust us from the garden where Love laid His homeless head. He followed us, and wept.

Yea, it is finished, yea, it is enough. Time hastens, and the tide is gone so far The faint horizon scarcely gleams in foam. The gate is narrow and the path is rough, But through the cloud one silver shepherd-star Lingers to lead us. Love, we will go home.

Into thy hands, immortal Love. Not ours The noonday's triumph, the diviner close, Or the full flood across Time's whispering sands. We bring you withered sheaves and broken flowers,— Rue and wild poppy, thorns, one fading rose. Love, we are sorry. All is in thy hands.