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.