A PSALM TO THE BEST BELOVED

Thou comfortest me with the manna of thy love, And the kisses of thy mouth are wine and sustenance; Thy lips are grateful as fruit In lonely orchards by the wayside of a ruinous land; They are sweet as the purple grapes On parching hills that confront the autumnal desert, Or apples that the mad simoon hath spared In a garden with walls of syenite. Thy loosened hair is a veil For the weariness of mine eyes and eyelids, Which have known the redoubled sun In a desert valley with slopes of the dust of white marble, And have gazed on the mounded salt In the marshes of a lake of dead waters. Thy body is a secret Eden Fed with lethean springs, And the touch of thy flesh is like to the savour of lotos. In thy hair is a perfume of ecstasy, And a perfume of sleep, Between thy thighs is a valley of delight, And between thy breasts is a valley of peace.