A CRY

OH, there are eyes that he can see,
And hands to make his hands rejoice,
But to my lover I must be
Only a voice.

Oh, there are breasts to bear his head,
And lips whereon his lips can lie,
But I must be till I am dead
Only a cry.




CHANCE

How many times we must have met
Here on the street as strangers do,
Children of chance we were, who passed

The door of heaven and never knew.




IMMORTAL