Xxv

The scorching heat of noonday sun Is my love’s blazing passion; The night--fair shadow of the day-- Thy love’s sweet moderation.

Thou hast set fire within my breast, Earth’s centre’s heat assuming, But that fire, unnursed by Thy love, Will die, itself consuming.

I dreamt of banquets with Thy love And have but crumbs collected; What wonder, then, if only grief Is in my face reflected.

The heart, indeed, can suffer much, Oppressed by love’s great hunger, And whether I am day or night I now can guess no longer.

’Tis written thus. The day and night Proceed, each other missing-- But as the evening’s dusk arrives, They meet, each other kissing.