The Festival of Spring
October 5, 2014 § Leave a comment
With Thy Sweet Soul, this soul of mine Hath mixed as Water doth with Wine. Who can the Wine and Water part, Or me and Thee when we combine? Thou art become my greater self; Small bounds no more can me confine. Thou has my being taken on, And shall not I now take on Thine? Me Thou for ever hast affirmed, That I may ever know Thee mine. Thy Love has pierced me through and through, I rest a Flute laid on Thy lips; A lute, I on Thy breast recline. Breath deep in me that I may sigh; Yet strike my strings, and tears shall shine.