I cried to thee and said, "Take thy rod of punishment and judge
them."

The morning light struck upon those eyes, red with the revel of
night; the place of the white lily greeted their burning breath;
the stars through the depth of the sacred dark stared at their
carousing--at those that raised dust to soil thy robe, O
Beautiful!

Thy judgment seat was in the flower garden, in the birds' notes
in springtime: in the shady river-banks, where the trees muttered
in answer to the muttering of the waves.

O my Lover, they were pitiless in their passion.

They prowled in the dark to snatch thy ornaments to deck their
own desires.

When they had struck thee and thou wert pained, it pierced me to
the quick, and I cried to thee and said, "Take thy sword, O my
Lover, and judge them!"

Ah, but thy justice was vigilant.

A mother's tears were shed on their insolence; the imperishable
faith of a lover hid their spears of rebellion in its own wounds.

Thy judgment was in the mute pain of sleepless love: in the blush
of the chaste: in the tears of the night of the desolate: in the